Merit and Inheritance
by Bfd1235813
Summary: Harry had his fill of conflict so he developed a little business and used his spare time for a bit of do-gooding. Daphne got her mastery and became a healer. They had shared a moment or two but Harry made a mess of it, to his great regret. Why did Daphne seek out Harry when she needed another perspective? Was there an ember in those ashes?
1. Chapter 1

_**ACKNOWLEDGEMENT**_

The author of this story makes no claim to anything. The characters are either principals or peripheral to the Harry Potter novels authored by J.K. Rowling. Some characters do not appear in the Harry Potter novels and were developed for this story, but they owe their existence to the novels of Ms. Rowling, so the author claims no rights to them, either. Most locations mentioned are from Ms. Rowling's work or are in the public domain (London! Glasgow!). The author wishes to take this opportunity to thank Ms. Rowling for the gift of the seven Harry Potter novels and all the other features of the Potterverse. Thanks as well for being so kind and letting writers and readers of fan fiction enjoy a little additional recreational reading and writing. Respectfully, B.

_Author's Note_

The war is not over just because the shooting stops. If the twentieth century taught us anything, it is that. The twenty-first isn't getting off to a very promising start, either. The Second Wizarding War left Magical Britain in a state. The fortunate were able to pick up their lives and move on. Some of the less fortunate were in Azkaban, or had to live on without a loved one, or were so damaged they envied the dead. The war destroyed families, fortunes, careers and untold property. Still, humans are resilient. The students who had been attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the time of the final battle would have had every right to seek out an island somewhere and devote themselves to rum and beachcombing. A few did. Most didn't. Some found themselves in a position to help others adjust to post-war life. It happens after every conflict. Those people do much more than they realize to get the rest of us back on our feet.

The following work features Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass but it is not a continuation of any previous works by the author.

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter One

Pansy's Call

Pansy Parkinson materialized on the apex of a curve where an unpaved road climbed a small hill before dropping down into the depression between Pansy's hill and its nearest neighbor. Pansy was no stranger to the countryside. She'd spent much of her life at the Parkinson family's manor or one or another estate occupied by her magical childhood friends. Still, this spot struck her as being one too many steps removed from civilization, as she understood it.

British magicals, at least the ones coming from the more fortunate stratum of magical society, tended to love their estates. They built manor houses, restored castles, inherited abbeys they shared with regiments of ghostly monks. Formal gardens were grounds for competition between both sexes. Mazes of hedges and wedding cake follies were planted, shaped, built, ornamented, to be removed with a wave and replanted or rebuilt to record in three dimensions more and more elaborate and imaginative confections. One family of Pansy's acquaintance lived in a ruined Roman villa, affecting tunics and togas at home for everyday and ritually examining the entrails of any animal slaughtered for the table. They even invited a select group of friends and acquaintances to the family Saturnalia observance.

Pansy's mother admitted, after a third glass of red and a magical oath of silence, that she had attended one Saturnalia at the villa, in December of the year before she married.

"What happened?" Pansy asked. "What goes on at that damned party, anyway?"

Lady Parkinson giggled and wouldn't look Pansy in the face.

"Oh, it's just…fun, I guess," she said, finally. "Good clean fun, that's all."

"Perhaps I don't want to know," Pansy observed.

"It's a simple country weekend, really, Pansy," Lady Parkinson assured her daughter. "With a toga party."

Pansy had visited the villa, as a matter of fact, although she didn't dress as a Roman maiden. The matriarch of the family was working through a term of service as the Chief Vestal. In her own mind, she needed to see that the sacred rituals were performed to perfection, but mainly she concerned herself with the celibacy of every female that came within her sphere of influence. Less than an hour after Pansy's arrival she'd cornered her in the main room of the villa and was working as hard as she could to convince Pansy of the superiority of a career as a perpetual virgin, one with promotion possibilities that would culminate in Pansy's own elevation to Chief Vestal, with all the rights and privileges thereunto appertaining.

"MUM!" shouted Pansy's classmate as she entered the room and overheard her mother's recruitment pitch.

She wore a long white gown and a pleated cap, the same as the Vestals shown in surviving Roman mosaics and frescoes.

"Come on, Pansy, gotta get you out of here," said the young woman.

She held onto Pansy's arm all the way to the villa courtyard and disapparated.

"Where are we?" Pansy asked, looking around.

"Outskirts of Penzance," said the girl. "Give me just a moment."

She waved her wand down the length of her torso and the Vestal's dress was replaced by an outfit typical for a young woman of school age: white button-down shirt, maroon jumper, black skinny jeans and a pair of black flats.

"The madwoman has every vagina on the estate embargoed and the senator and the centurion and the slave from the vomitorium are all tumescent, all the time. You could have been seen as concubine material."

Pansy wasn't sure just exactly what that meant but she tried to remember some of the references so she could look them up as soon as she had the chance. She grasped enough to extrapolate, so she did the right thing.

"Oh, THANK-YOU, Love," she said, "You've saved me for what will come later."

Pansy also didn't know precisely what was to come later, but her own mother had been warning her to think about it for as long as she could remember.

"When you're convinced some young wizard is worth throwing it all over for, you just stop and remind yourself about what will come later, Pansy Parkinson," her mother would say.

Pansy had assumed she'd seen the range of magical country places, including a ruined Roman villa, but none of the ones she'd visited prepared her for what she saw from her apparition point. She studied the homestead from the road. There was no lane. She would have to use a stile to get across a fence, then follow an unimproved foot path through a pasture of mixed grasses, heather, and some plants she didn't recognize.

The cottage was built out of stone. It looked solid enough. The builders hadn't done anything to pretty up the material. It looked like it had just been hacked out of the bedrock. Pansy didn't think the stone showed any signs of ever having had any stucco applied, nor paint nor whitewash.

The roof was thatch. Someone had done a nice job on that.

The dooryard was swept. Some ivy climbed one wall. She saw what appeared to be a well, a circular stone structure with two upright posts and a windlass, with a rope dangling down.

Several expletives tried to escape but Pansy focused on her manners and they stayed put.

"Just go see who's home, tea only, can't stay for lunch, got to get back…"

"Hullo, Morag?"

Pansy stood a few yards off from the door and hoped she had the right place. A solid redheaded woman came outdoors, stopping before she got very close. Pansy wondered if she was holding onto the option of dashing back inside.

"It's Pansy," she said. "Pansy Parkinson? I've come to visit. To see how you're doing. Have you got time to chat?"

The redhead stood still, staring.

"Come on in," she said, finally.

Pansy walked on down the little slope, following the dirt path. She got close enough to reach out and raised her arms. The redhead hesitated, then leaned forward from the waist up. She touched Pansy with her hands but she didn't hug back.

"Tea?"

"Sure, thank-you, nothing like a cup of tea," Pansy said. "How are you? Country life agrees with you, I can see."

"Meaning?"

"Morag, you look fit, healthy, ageless…" Pansy tried.

"Thank-you," Morag said. "Sugar? Milk? There's no lemon, I'm afraid."

"Nothing," said Pansy.

"Yes, I'm Morag," said her hostess. "I don't think I ever confirmed."

She snickered a little, getting a smile from Pansy.

"Don't use my name much, way out here," Morag said. "Mum."

She gestured with her head toward an interior door. Pansy looked her hostess over. The clothes she wore were of good quality, well-kept, clean, yet everything she had on spoke of age and wear. The interior of the cottage was clean. There was a smoky scent that Pansy guessed permeated everything that could hold an odor—wood, textiles, thatch. What in the name of Merlin was a graduate of Hogwarts doing living out here on the edge of the world?

"Stroke," said Morag. She looked Pansy in the eye.

"Mum had a stroke. She lived here alone ever since Dad passed. I'd come visit her on weekends. Just one of those things."

"Oh, Morag, I'm so sorry," Pansy said. She lay her hand on her classmate's. Morag didn't move.

Pansy dropped her voice.

"How…?"

Morag just shook her head.

"Drink up," she said, "I'll show you around."

Pansy emptied her tea cup and stood. Morag led the way through the cottage and out a rear door. The back yard sloped down from the back of the cottage, ending at a stone wall. Pansy wasn't a mason but she could see the wall was dry-laid stone and it was perfect. She wondered if wand-work had anything to do with that.

Morag led her away from the cottage. There was a window in the area opposite the kitchen. Pansy guessed that was Mrs. MacDougal's room.

"How much did you know about the MacDougals when we were in school?" Morag asked.

"Not a lot," said Pansy. "You were a serious student, I recall."

"Mm-hmm," said Morag. "I didn't run in the same circles you did. I didn't run at all. My situation wasn't known to more than a few faculty and two students. Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini. So, Pansy, before we go any further, will you please tell me what in Hades you are doing here? And I'll tell you right now, if I even suspect you are lying, or just shading the truth, you might as well apparate out of here and never bother me again."

Morag meant it, from the look on her face and the hard set of her eyes.

Pansy sighed.

"Harry wants to know where everyone is," said Pansy. "He…it's going to be ten years since the…the Battle. He asked for help putting together an update."

"It's going to be ten years, almost three years from now. So, you're his secretary, administrative assistant? Who am I talking to, Pansy? You? Harry? What brought this on?"

"You're talking to me. I'm just a witch that Harry asked to check and see if we could locate one of our number we hadn't heard from in a while. Harry likes to know everyone is well, that they aren't in need of something that the rest of us can help out with, that they aren't…being neglected."

Morag stopped and thought over Pansy's statement, then she nodded.

"There's a bench over here," she said, leading the way to a wooden bench underneath an arbor covered in morning glory vines.

"After things settled down, I worked with tutors and took my NEWTs," Morag began.

She'd done well. Five NEWT Outstandings and two Exceeds Expectations were sufficient to apply for a mastery program in healing. Morag completed the course and took a position with a Ministry-supported clinic in a magical village a little way outside Glasgow. Then Morag's father died.

Morag's father was her mother's third husband. Morag's parents were both well-advanced in age when Morag came along, her mother having made it to two hundred by the time she had her stroke.

"I tried to keep working, but she needs someone full time," Morag said. "I took family leave. The Ministry was very generous, but they couldn't carry me forever. I looked for an attendant, but she wants me here. That's our status, at the moment."

"Any chance of her improving?" Pansy asked.

"No," said Morag. "She'll never be able to get up from her bed and step over to her chair. I can understand a bit of what she says, but I think I just know her well enough to get her what she wants when she is acting like she wants something."

"I've heard…of a few cases…ah, problems with her magic?" Pansy asked. She tried to be delicate, but it sounded to her like delicacy had slipped her grasp.

"No, thank Merlin," said Morag. "I live in fear she'll initiate something catastrophic, like a fire. So far…"

Morag rapped her knuckles, twice, on the wooden bench.

Pansy thought over what she'd learned from Morag.

"Is this the best place for someone in her condition? At her age?" asked Pansy.

"It's where she lived with Dad," said Morag. "No, to answer your question. It's what she wants, though, and she gets so upset if she doesn't have it. There are charms at work. Keeping it in conformance with her expectations."

Pansy took a long pause to think over her next words.

"So you aren't able to plan…" she began.

Morag closed her eyes and shook her head. She took her time answering.

"I owe her," she said. "I came too late. A century too late. She'd done her duty. My brothers and sisters are much older. Still, I wouldn't be here, if not for her, and Dad. How in the world they managed to get me started, and raise me. Even with magic."

Pansy burst out laughing.

"Sorry, sorry," she tried. "The way you said that, I just…"

Morag didn't seem to mind, because she started to laugh herself.

"Oh, Merlin," Morag said when she got control of herself.

"Well, you're a professional woman, using your education and taking care of an aging parent," said Pansy. "Can I offer you anything? Visits? Caregiver's respite day? A jar of chicken soup? Or would you rather be left alone?"

"Don't you have to go back and report?" asked Morag. She sounded a little aggressive. Pansy let it pass.

"Beyond saying I found you and you're the picture of health, no," said Pansy. "There have been one or two cases where I exercised some discretion."

Morag heard something in Pansy's comment and changed direction.

"What exactly is your job? What does Potter pay you to do?" she asked.

The question hung in the air. It seemed to have Pansy stumped.

"Watch and learn," she said.


	2. Chapter 2

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Two

Mrs. MacDougal's World

"This is a lovely spot to sit down, Morag, I have to say," said Pansy. "Although, I know you must be busy…"

Pansy stood and smoothed the sleeves of her blouse. Getting up led to taking in a long, deep breath, through her nostrils. She savored the summer smells, the heather and the sweet scent of the morning glories.

"Oh, no need to rush off," Morag said. "I appreciate you coming. You can tell Harry I'm fine, really."

Pansy looked at Morag, studying her face. She didn't see how Morag MacDougal could be fine. Her classmate had the internal discipline and raw intelligence to go through Hogwarts during a period of severe disruption, finishing in outright war, get a professional education and practice healing in her community. Now she was communicating with thistle and an empty sky.

Pansy admired Morag's sense of duty and determination to use her magic and healing skills to make her mother's last days as pain-free and comfortable as she could. She even credited her choice of keeping Mrs. MacDougal in the cottage, although Pansy didn't think she'd be able to go that far. There were specialized facilities for the elderly in the magical world, just as there were for muggles. Morag could use some help, Pansy knew.

"Morag, isn't there something I can send along?" Pansy asked. "Food you're craving that you can't get here? A book? Herbs, potions, Standard Book of Spells?"

Morag laughed.

"I don't need anything, honestly," she said.

Pansy looked at her. Morag was clean, her hair brushed, skin clear. She was taking care of herself, physically. Pansy held a thought: 'Be gracious,' and didn't argue.

"I'm going to take off, for today," she said. "Can we owl, now and then? I'll worry about you, way out here."

Morag stiffened, looking Pansy straight in the eye.

"Pansy, you're not to worry," she said, her tone hardening a little. "Understand? I'm doing my duty. I'm giving back, which is what I trained to do. Way out here is home, to some of us."

Pansy saw an elaborately-carved wooden knob at the cuff of Morag's left sleeve, and guessed a wand was laid against her forearm. While they stood there looking at one another a voice came from the cottage.

"Mo-Ahh. Mo-Ahh," someone was calling.

"Mum," Morag declared. "Show yourself out?"

"Can I do anything to help?" Pansy asked.

Morag walked to the back door without another word.

Pansy stood where she was, not knowing if Morag wanted help, or would accept it if she followed her in. She made a decision, falling in behind Morag.

Morag didn't notice she was there until she turned to close the door.

"What?"

"Tell me what to do," Pansy said, half-expecting to be told to leave and not come back.

Morag took a moment, then sighed.

"Let me see what…" she said, leaving off the end of her sentence.

Morag went as far as the door to the next room. Pansy stood, looking around the kitchen space, fitting it into her mental picture of the dimensions of the cottage. Any way you looked at it the place didn't have the footprint for anything but two rooms. That was how Morag MacDougal was living as she took care of her invalid mother. Pansy felt like crying would really help elevate her mood, but nothing came out.

"Pansy? I can use your assistance after all," Morag said from the other room.

"Mother—this is Pansy," she said when Pansy got to the doorway. "Pansy, my mother, Livia MacDougal."

Mrs. MacDougal lay on a low single bed, propped up on multiple pillows. One arm, her left, was across her torso. The hand had not assumed the withered-claw look Pansy had seen in one or two witches she'd known who had suffered strokes. She guessed Mrs. MacDougal hadn't been in her condition long enough for her hand to claw up.

Mrs. MacDougal smiled, on one-half of her face, and extended her right hand. Pansy knelt at her bedside, took Mrs. MacDougal's hand in both of hers and kissed it.

"An honor, Madam," she said. Mrs. MacDougal continued to smile.

"Ma fabe'it po," she said. "Pans ma fabe'it po."

"Mother's favorite pony," Morag muttered. "She had a Shetland pony named Pansy when she was a girl."

"Is that right?" Pansy asked. "A pony, named Pansy."

She continued to hold the old witch's hand. Mrs. MacDougal squeezed, tight, with her one good hand. A single tear rolled down the old lady's cheek.

"Ready to sit up, Mother?" Morag asked, then spoke to Pansy. "I just want to arrange her pillows."

Morag slipped her arm under her mother.

"Just stay where you are, Pansy," she said. "Mother might hold really tight. I don't think she has the sense of how much strength she is using anymore."

Morag raised Mrs. MacDougal up. The old lady let go of Pansy's hands and put her one good arm over her shoulder, pulling the two of them together.

"Pans," she said. "Pans."

Mrs. MacDougal's right hand began to pat Pansy on the back. It felt like the old lady was laying on open-handed slaps as horsemen and women do to their equine friends.

"Pans. Guh po. Guh gul," said Mrs. MacDougal.

"Pansy's a good pony, Mother?" asked Morag. "It's time to let Pansy go. You had a good ride, now you both take a little rest."

Mrs. MacDougal let Morag handle her weight, what little there was left, and lay back down on the pillows.

"Pans," she said one last time.

Pansy led the way back into the larger room.

"Morag," she tried, again.

"What?" Morag asked. "This is what I want to do, Pansy, you have nothing to say about it. Whatever time she has left she'll get fed and bathed and put to bed at night by me. I can't do anything else, do you understand? I owe. I'll have plenty of life left when she's gone. I'll do things then. There won't be a second chance to do this."

"Fine, Love," said Pansy. "You're fine and doing well. You don't need anything. Would you like an owl, bearing a note once in awhile?"

Morag's gaze softened.

"I would, yes," she said. "General news items. Classmates having babies."

"I'll see to it," said Pansy. "Anything. Anything at all. We want to help."

"I can see that," said Morag. "I'll let you know. I appreciate your coming. Bye for now."

With that Morag turned and went back into her mother's bedroom, letting Pansy sort out her own departure.


	3. Chapter 3

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Three

Al-Andalus

Pansy Parkinson sat across from Harry Potter, a battered wooden desk between them. Besides the blotter, a little organizer tray for quills and an ink bottle, the desk was clear. Harry Potter liked a clean desk. Harry's chair squeaked as he listened, some tight fastener protesting with each little rocking motion.

"Morag is doing well," Pansy began. "She is taking a break from career concerns while she cares for her mother. Mrs. MacDougal is over two hundred years old. She had a stroke some time past and won't ever be fit for anything but rest, that mostly bed rest. Madam is delightful, though. She had a pony named Pansy when she was a girl. She patted me on the back and told me Pansy was a good pony. I'm still not sure if she confused me with a Shetland pony."

Harry broke off studying Pansy's face to acknowledge her report with a smile.

"That's good," he said. "Very productive trip. Well done. Was Morag glad to see you?"

Pansy hadn't anticipated the question so there was the briefest pause.

"She warmed up," said Pansy. Harry continued to study her face.

"Sounds like she's engaged in a useful and stimulating pursuit," Harry said. "Dutiful daughter tasks. No one can be faulted for taking care of an aging parent. If we could help, in any way…"

Harry let the thought hang there, between them.

"I asked, Harry, the only thing I could get her to accept was a note now and then, via owl."

"Then that's all we'll send," Harry said as he stood. "Look at the time! Lunch? Have to eat sometime."

"Someplace that serves salads," said Pansy. "I haven't been paying close enough attention. Have to get some discipline back."

Harry looked at Pansy, then checked himself in a wall mirror.

"We're presentable enough, for Al-Andalus, aren't we?" he asked.

Pansy thought over what Harry'd just asked. Al-Andalus had an excellent kitchen and some of the best salads on the planet, but it was expensive. What's more, it was one of the restaurants in magical London that virtually guaranteed a recognizable person would be recognized. That is why a lot of people chose it. A magical person didn't go there if they cared about being recognized, and a lot of them went precisely to be recognized.

Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry had kept a low profile. He wasn't a recluse, although given his string of batterings he certainly would have been entitled. He liked socializing, while being very picky about the people he socialized with. That kept Potter sightings restricted to homes and a few public places. Pansy thought Harry must be having one of his rare sociable days, if he was in the mood for Al-Andalus.

During the first weeks after the final battle, Harry recognized that he was a mess. He made people mad. He blew up a series of promising romantic relationships in a very short time, all over inconsequential matters. He tried self-medicating, mainly with alcohol. When he observed alcohol wasn't fixing anything, he had the sense to leave it alone. Harry asked around and found that there were a number of magical schools for therapy and self-help. He tried several, finally settling with a magical therapist who used guided meditation and magical exercises that enhanced self-affirmations. There were some rough spots. Meditation brought out some trauma that Harry had had to patch over so he could function well enough to get on with the fight. The damage lay there alongside his unresolved and unexpressed emotional reactions.

Harry dealt with those, one by one. He put himself through his exercises again and again. He was determined to make himself fit company for decent people. Being magical, and making himself decent enough for magical company lowered the bar to a degree, but he still had to work at it. Eventually he felt like he could go out in public, interact a little bit, and not be a danger to himself or others. With luck and conscious self-discipline he wouldn't even be a jackass.

Pansy knew all that. She wondered if the clientele at Al-Andalus would be content to mind its own business in the presence of Harry Potter. There was one way to find out. If he took her along there probably wouldn't be any catastrophic damage.

"Chef salad, no meat, please," Pansy told the waiter.

"Same," said Harry. "Tall ice water, two or three lemon wedges?"

"Of course, Mr. Potter, Madam," said the waiter with two little bows. 

"Gone vegetarian, Harry?" asked Pansy.

"No. It just simplified the order if I took the same as you."

"What next?" Pansy asked. She wondered if she'd get a coherent answer.

Harry took a half baguette from the basket in the middle of the table and broke it again, more or less in the middle.

"Will you accept one of these?" Harry asked, holding out the two non-halves. "End piece? The one that was more in the middle?"

"Harry, you know that I know you always like the end piece. Why do you always put me in this position?"

"You're the only person I know who is bothered by it. Everyone else just takes the piece from the middle," Harry said.

Pansy reached for the piece from the middle. She pinched off a chunk and dropped the rest on her little bread plate.

"Ohhh," Pansy said when she'd finished swallowing the first bite of bread. "I've heard there is an elf in back that does nothing but bread. Must be a saint. An elf saint."

"Why's that?" Harry asked.

"Because that bread is heavenly," said Pansy.

"That has got to be…" Harry began.

"What?" asked Pansy.

"No, I can't," said Harry. "I…value your friendship too much."

Had it been anyone else, Pansy would have thought the next conversational exchange would contain Harry's proposition to kill the afternoon at a nearby hotel. She'd been working with Harry for a number of months, though, and the proposition hadn't come yet. She was glad. Pansy enjoyed doing the things Harry asked her to do, like tracking down missing classmates who were practically on the edge of the tundra. She wasn't feeling romantic about him, nor did she think she would, ever. She liked thinking he was just comfortable with her, as she was with him. The one time she'd brought it up, Harry thought he was being asked why he wasn't hitting on Pansy. He'd danced around trying not to say he didn't find her attractive while conveying the idea that he was not feeling attracted to her.

It was funny, in retrospect. Pansy had written down some of the dialog. She thought it could be turned into a one act play.

"Does she need help?"

Harry's question went from baguette chat back to Pansy's last project, without warning or segue.

"Hmm?" Pansy asked, working another piece of bread. "Oh, Morag? Harry, it's hard to say. She was testy at first. Demanding. What did I want? Told me if she sensed I was lying even a little I could just climb the fence and disapparate back whence I'd come."

"Is there a way to make their lives easier? Household help? An elf? Regular food deliveries?" Harry asked.

"Morag said the cottage is what her mother wants. That's where she lived with her husband. The last one, anyway, Morag's father. I'd be careful and know exactly what I was proposing, and what the ramifications would be, before I made any offers."

"I couldn't say I knew her well at school," Harry said. "Although, I did find out about the parents, for some reason. It's remarkable how she managed to finish her basic education and go on for her qualifications in the midst of some serious disruption. Commendable."

Pansy snorted. The vocabulary Harry used to talk about the resistance to Voldemort could be surprising, and funny. He didn't like to call the conflict between the magical factions a war, although that was what it amounted to. Instead, he'd use 'serious disruption' or 'the recent period' and let that stand for the civil war within Magical Britain.

"Who was she friends with at school? Who were her chums?" Harry asked.

"I can ask around," Pansy said.

"Why don't we do that?" asked Harry. "We might develop some useful information about what kind of assistance we could provide, without giving offense."

"Will do," said Pansy. "I'll keep you current."

Harry nodded and went back to his salad.

"This is good," he said, letting a chunk of the excellent bread sit in the oil on the bottom of his bowl. Harry picked up the bread with his fork and put it in his mouth. He closed his eyes while he chewed.

"Maybe I'll get Morag and her mother a baguette," he said. "I wonder if they'd let me buy one to take?"

"Oh, something tells me if you asked the waiter for a baguette they might make some special accommodation," said Pansy.

"Really? Well, I'm going to give it a try," said Harry.


	4. Chapter 4

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Four

Romilda

"I'm inclined to drop this off on the way back to the office," Harry said as he cradled the baguette in both hands, holding it tenderly like a new-born baby. "It's still warm. Be a shame to let it start drying out. I don't suppose you know if Madam MacDougal was devoted to Tom Riddle also known as…"

"Know where you're going?" asked Pansy.

"No, I thought," Harry began.

"Not surprised," said Pansy. "That's fine, I'll be happy to take you."

"Do you mind?" Harry asked. "If you've got something to do…"

"Anything I have to do can wait half an hour while we do a bread delivery," said Pansy.

"That's very accommodating of you," Harry said. "Let's see, from here…"

The alley behind the Leaky Cauldron was the nearest convenient apparition point. A short time later Harry and Pansy stood across the stile from the MacDougal cottage, baguette in hand.

"Morag, look who's here!" Pansy called.

Morag came out the front door once more.

"Pansy, what have you done?" Morag asked. A little distress came through in her voice.

"Brought you and Madam a fresh baguette, that's all, I swear," Pansy said.

Harry and Pansy stood there, waiting to be invited inside the property.

"Fine, come on in," sighed Morag. She walked out into the yard, two or three meters from the door.

"Morag, good to see you," Harry said as he approached. He extended his hand. "We were eating lunch and the bread was so good we asked if we could get a whole loaf to take. Everyone needs bread, but, of course, pardon my presumption if you don't."

"We eat bread," Morag confirmed. She motioned with a little head toss. "Come on in, please."

Morag waved a hand at the kitchen table, so Harry and Pansy chose a chair apiece and sat down. Morag pointed her wand at a tea kettle and it started making boiling water sounds. Tea followed, perfectly steeped, although Harry hadn't noticed Morag checking her watch.

"Morag, Pansy was telling me about you being out here, taking care of your mum, and I wanted to come by, offer any help you might need, and share one of these baguettes. We just had a very nice lunch in London and it didn't seem right. So, here it is."

Harry presented the baguette, both hands out in front, arms extended. Morag started to laugh.

"Nice," she said. "Very nice. Everyone needs bread, I suppose, just as you said."

"And that's it, Morag," said Harry. "Thank-you for the tea. It's delicious. We can send up anything you want. More tea. Coffee. We're not pushing."

"I appreciate the concern," said Morag. "Mother spends most of her time in bed. We get up once or twice a day. She still enjoys some fresh air in the morning, so we go outside and sit together."

"She had a stroke?" Harry asked. "Even magical methods…"

"No, witches are human," said Morag. "Sometimes the human body just breaks. Magical or muggle, there's no difference. When the brain is damaged it's damaged. Younger people can work at their rehabilitation and it's possible to come back. At two hundred plus, there isn't a lot left to work with, even with magic."

"I see," said Harry. He took the last little sip of tea in his cup. Looking around the room Harry started to notice how everything gave off an air of efficiency. There was no sign the cottage had ever been wired for electricity. The roof was thatch. Harry looked for spider webs but didn't see any.

"Pansy? Finished?"

"Yes, Harry," Pansy said. "Last chance, Morag. Anything we can send north?"

"A note now and then, as we discussed," Morag said. "Harry, if Pansy didn't make it clear, I'm here as long as Mum needs me. To the end, essentially."

"Whatever you want to do, Morag," Harry said. "No one's judging. Pansy?"

When Pansy hugged Morag this time, Morag hugged back. Something had started thawing the icy reserve.

Harry and Pansy crossed the stile and disapparated. A few minutes later they were back in the London office sharing thoughts about their excursion.

"Anything?" Pansy asked.

"Not that I can think of," said Harry. "Morag has something to do that she obviously wants to do. She's functioning socially, although I couldn't tell if she was having to make an effort. She used magic appropriately for an everyday task. Nothing very complicated but she didn't blow the house up. Let's stay in contact. She can reach out if she wants more than that."

"Why don't you go home for the day?" Harry went on.

"And do what?" Pansy shot back.

"Read the magical financial press and see what you want to do about your investments," Harry replied.

"My investments, such as they are, are in the goblins' hands," said Pansy. "If I took any more interest they would resent me for poking my nose in where it doesn't belong."

"If I go home, then, would you go?" Harry asked.

"Probably not," Pansy replied. "I might try to find someone to go shop with for a couple of hours."

"Why don't you do that?" Harry said, standing up from his chair. "That's enough for one day."

Harry let Pansy out and closed the door, tapping the door handle with his wand to set the lock. The lock wasn't important, but the wards that engaged along with it were.

"Bye, then," Harry said as he took off toward home.

Pansy walked through Diagon Alley toward the Leaky Cauldron. If she was going to find a witch for a little shopping, or another cup of tea, she'd be someplace on Pansy's route. Taking her time, as long as she was out, about, and at loose ends, Pansy lingered in front of windows full of stock, studying the old favorites along with the new items that had shown up after the fighting ended.

The magical world was very traditional and took its time before accepting anything the new. Magical culture revered itself, in truth. Pansy enjoyed studying the school robes on display in Madame Malkin's. She moved along, taking note of the owls, quidditch supplies and equipment, then stopped short at Fortescue's Ice Cream Shop.

The enameled sign on the front of the shop always did a number on Pansy. It showed a glass cup that sat on a little stand, a scoop of orange and a scoop of lemon sherbet garnished with some pineapple chunks. Painted just beneath the cup was the command: ENJOY!

"Just what I need," thought Pansy as she went inside.

One order for a cup's worth with pineapple chunks later, Pansy sat at a marble-topped table, taking her time with little spoonsful of sherbet. Pansy's eyes were closed as she let her treat melt on her tongue, so she didn't see Romilda Vane enter Fortescue's or stop at her table.

"Mmm," she was thinking, until Romilda intervened.

"Pansy Parkinson," said Romilda.

Pansy opened her eyes.

"Romilda? Where did you come from?"

"Not back from the dead," said Romilda.

"Oh," said Pansy before she ran out of words.

"You were under the impression…?" asked Romilda.

"Oh, I guess I was," said Pansy. "What a surprise. Why?"

"Did the rumors start? I don't know," said Romilda. "I've never been dead, I assure you. That I know of, that is."

"Alright, then, ice cream? Tea? Sit down and catch your breath?"

"I'll get it," said Romilda. "May I?"

She put her shopping bag on an empty chair without waiting for Pansy's answer.

Romilda came back from the counter with a cup of vanilla drizzled with chocolate and a glass of water.

"So," said Romilda after she'd taken her seat. "Tell me what you heard."

"You'd disappeared," said Pansy. "Lots of theories why, as you'd expect. I noticed there was never a confirming fact or a secondary source. Not right away, of course. Know what an urban legend is? It's kind of a muggle thing."

"I've heard of it," said Romilda. "I was married off, just as your seventh year collapsed. That was my fifth. Sold, really. My husband had outlived his wife and wanted a bedwarmer and someone to fetch him a brandy when he woke up at night. I was younger than some of his grandchildren."

"Merlin," gasped Pansy. "And now…"

"I'm a widow," said Romilda. "Cast out by my husband's heir. I'm never to darken the creepy door of their creepy castle in their creepy valley ever again. As you can see, I'm devastated."

"Merlin," Pansy said again. "Guess I just said that."

"You did," said Romilda. "What about you? You didn't marry Draco Malfoy, it appears."

Romilda looked at Pansy's hands, which were bereft of rings.

"We came to our senses," said Pansy. "Thank Merlin we'd waited and didn't get overly physical too soon. No half-growns at my place or his asking when they'll see Mum or Dad again."

Romilda laughed.

"Same here," she said. "His late lordship had big ideas but lacked equipment sufficient to implement them."

Pansy struggled to keep the volume of her laughter down. They were in an ice cream parlor, not some rowdy late-night wizard's dive.

"Sounds bad," said Pansy.

"It does, and it was," said Romilda. "My father and I are, I think, permanently estranged. My mother made a pro forma request to me to do it for the family and make the best of it. Needless to say, I don't find myself pining for the comfort of her arms and bosom."

"And now you're back," said Pansy. "Welcome home."

Something about the welcome penetrated Romilda's cynical armor and her eyes started looking well-watered. She dropped her head and focused on her ice cream.

"What are you doing for housing?" Pansy asked. "Oh, wait, if that was inappropriate…"

"Not at all," said Romilda. "I am dipping into some funds the late husband transferred to me when he was alive. Without going into it in more detail than necessary, I took my mother's advice and made the best of it. Merlin knows they weren't going to be keeping an eye on me. I'm in a muggle hotel just off the Oxford High Street. I ducked into Diagon Alley for a few necessities they don't stock over there. Otherwise I prefer to limit my time around our kind. My late stepson's circle, you know."

Pansy didn't like the direction Romilda's side of the conversation seemed to be headed. She was limiting her time with magicals. Her husband and his son were both recently deceased. The stepson's circle—what? Took umbrage? Was trying to trace her?

Pansy took a spoonful of both flavors and put it in her mouth. She was trying to sort through everything Romilda had told her. Even as she worried the facts she knew it was a fool's errand, because Romilda spoke volumes at the same time she was editing all that she said.

"Do you need help?" Pansy asked, lowering her head and muttering into the table top. "Disappear?"

"Not just yet," said Romilda, giving Pansy a half-smile. "Is that your line of work?"

She sounded genuinely interested.

"No," said Pansy. "It's just, with the fighting, some people did find obscure places…One hears."

"Ummm…" Romilda said, voice back at a conversational level, "This is so good. I'd forgotten the therapeutic value of Fortescue's ice cream.

Romilda leaned into the table a little and looked straight at Pansy.

"I'm so glad I came in here this afternoon, Pansy. Could an owl find you these days?"

She began getting ready to leave, gathered the handles on her shopping bag and pushed her chair back. Pansy took a good look at Romilda's widow's weeds, then nodded.

"Good," said Romilda as she stood. She stepped around the table and leaned down.

Pansy half-stood, touching her cheek to Romilda's, then her school-days acquaintance was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Acknowledgment: None of this is mine—it all belongs to JKR. Proceed accordingly.**

_AN: Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read the opening chapters, with special thanks to those leaving a note. _

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Five

Magical Business

Pansy left for home soon after Romilda departed Fortescue's. She'd intended to finish her strolling through Diagon Alley but decided instead to pass by a greengrocer's she liked and pick up some more salad components. She opened the door to her flat and put her purchases in the sink. The greens went into a bowl of water to soak, and Pansy decided to give herself the same.

Lying back in the tub was supposed to let her relax and get rid of the tension from her day of running around and strange revelations. Instead, she found that the only thing she could think about was Romilda's tale of marriage and widowhood. Then there were those curious questions about whether Pansy's line of work was helping people disappear, and if an owl could find her.

Pansy formed competing theories before she finished her soak. Romilda might not be in immediate danger but there was a possibility someone from her late husband's family would blame her for his death and seek retribution. She'd also mentioned her 'late step-son,' whatever that meant. The other possibility was that Romilda was a very young widow, who seemed to have come away from her short marriage with a little bit of capital. Perhaps she was anticipating the word would get out and she'd become a target for magical gigolos and fortune hunters.

Pansy stood up and pulled the stopper from the drain. Turning, she studied herself in the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the bathroom door. She had a tendency to put on a little more roundness at her waist than she liked. She didn't look out of proportion today. Pansy did a lot of sit-ups and leg lifts. She wasn't trying to overdo the definition, she just wanted a flat belly.

She turned left, then right. She thought she looked a little saggy in back. That would not do. Pansy resolved to find more steps to climb, or perhaps a hill she could run up and down. She checked up top. Perfect, as always. She knew before she looked.

Almost dry by the time she'd finished her self-evaluation, Pansy took her bathrobe from the row of pegs next to the door and left for the kitchen.

Cutting up vegetables for her salad was an exercise in concentration. Pansy knew if she started rerunning her conversation with Romilda Vane she'd undoubtedly slice open a thumb, which wasn't a huge problem for a witch with a wand and a repertoire of healing charms. It slowed things down, though, and it hurt.

Salad built, anointed with oil, vinegar, black pepper and lemon juice, Pansy sat down in her little combination living and dining room and began to eat. She remembered her salad from lunch and how good the bread had tasted. She had a half baguette left in the breadbox that rested on the kitchen counter. She broke a generous chunk from the baguette and put it on a small plate next to her salad bowl, reminding herself to go easy as she already had to increase her sit-ups and find that hill to run up.

Next morning, Pansy allowed herself one boiled egg and a single, half-slice of toast, dry. Her calendar said she had the afternoon free. She'd been needing to make the trip to the Parkinson Estate to check on her mother. Essentially a widow, although Lord Parkinson was alive, if incarceration in Azkaban qualifies, Mrs. Parkinson gardened, with the help of some elves, and played cards with a small group of witches around her age.

The Parkinsons also had a hill, not too steep, that Pansy thought might be just the thing to restore perkiness to her tailward aspect. She had been late in getting a backside worthy of comment, so she was especially appreciative of hers, when it was looking its best. She resolved to spare no effort in putting things right back there.

"Morning, Harry," Pansy called when she entered the office.

Harry Potter lowered the Daily Prophet as he swung his feet down from his desk. His chair gave an extended squeak as he straightened up and swiveled to face Pansy.

"Good morning, Pansy," Harry said. "Do anything interesting after work?"

"As a matter of fact," Pansy said, "No."

"Pity," said Harry. "Me neither."

"As luck would have it, though, something interesting did happen to me, without me doing anything," Pansy said.

"Be careful," Harry said as his danger detectors began to spin. "Those can open up into real situations before you know what is happening. Then you've got your hands full."

"Oddly enough," Pansy began as she sat down.

Pansy told Harry about her stop for ice cream at Fortescue's, Romilda Vane's appearance, and her tale of marriage and widowhood.

"Just a bit strange she thinks she has to go to ground in Muggle London, though, isn't it?" Harry asked.

"I thought so," said Pansy. "If she's trying to disappear, why come right back home, especially if she has a little money to spend? Why not Montreal? Sydney?"

Harry watched Pansy's face. It appeared she liked the idea of a Montreal or a Sydney.

"Ever been to either?" Harry asked.

"No, I read about them in travel magazines," said Pansy.

"Okay, so we have a check mark on the list, next to Romilda's name, we know she's in Britain and she's safe, as of yesterday. Location undetermined, other than a muggle hotel somewhere near Oxford High Street," Harry said. "Have you done any more thinking about Morag?"

"Yes, I have," said Pansy. "Harry, I think we should leave her alone. Maintain contact but hands-off. I thought it over and she feels she has a duty. Madam MacDougal's time is short and Morag wants to make her feel safe and as happy as she can for whatever's left to her."

"We agree, then," said Harry. "Can you check on her every couple of weeks? And, if her mother goes, offer our help. Afterwards, too. She'll need a job, I expect, unless there is a lot more to that little farm than what we saw yesterday."

"Of course, Harry," said Pansy.

Harry wasn't saying anything. He just sat there, apparently fascinated by the corner where the ceiling met the wall behind her.

"Romilda?"

"Yes. No. I don't know," said Harry. "Related to Romilda, I guess. Feel like going over to the ministry and looking through the marriage registry? I wonder if Romilda got married here, or at her husband's? There might be some interesting reading in the archives."

"Of course, Harry," said Pansy. "Anything after that?"

"Doubt it, unless something new comes in," Harry said. "You've made notes? Or you can, by the time we're done this afternoon?"

"I've made notes," said Pansy, "First draft. I can get you a clean copy, with edits, by the end of the day."

"Why don't you write everything up? Tomorrow's fine," said Harry. "There's something I've been wanting to get done, so I'll be out this afternoon. Might not come back at all. If not, I'll see you in the morning."

Harry made sure Pansy was gone, then he let himself out and locked up. He didn't know if he'd be back in the event Pansy returned to the office, but she had access, with her wand, to everything except a small personal safe that sat behind Harry's desk.

Harry's office was in a modest building located on a little magical mews convenient to Diagon Alley. Harry found the building right after the end of the fighting. He'd walked past and saw a sign on the door saying it was for sale. The whole building looked vacant. The location indicated it was used to magical occupants, and, by extension, accustomed to lots of spells, wards, hexes, jinxes and maintenance charms. He contacted the agent and was quoted a very favorable price. Harry decided to take a chance on Magical Britain's recovery, met with a mortgage officer at Gringotts' and bought his first piece of real estate. He'd had to put up #12 Grimmauld Place as collateral. He didn't think he was really putting his inheritance from Sirius at risk because he believed in the magical economy's ability to bounce back, stronger than ever, following the removal of Voldemort.

Roughly seven years on, events proved Harry right. He'd kept the ground floor for the offices of Harry Potter and Associates. There were two more floors above the office. They'd been used mostly for storage. When he'd acquired the building, the top floor had lost most of its windows and sported layers of bat and pigeon droppings. Harry brought Kreacher from #12 Grimmauld Place and showed him the mess.

"Can you do this? Without straining your magic, of course?" he asked.

"If Kreacher could suggest, Master, there are elves who specialize in these, ahh, unusually difficult situations?"

"Of course," Harry said. "Do you know any who do good work? Will you get in contact and get me a price?"

Kreacher took Harry literally, of course, disapparating from the top floor space and returning shortly with an elvish couple, Mort and Daisy. Mort wore what appeared to have once been the kind of shorts with large patch pockets worn by suburban householders for Saturday yard maintenance. Mort's feet were bare and his outfit was completed with a child's souvenir shirt from a popular muggle theme park. Daisy was in an elf-sized gingham housedress, topped off by a carefully ironed white apron.

"Very pleased to make your acquaintance," Harry said. Kreacher's introduction had been one way, simply presenting Mort and Daisy to 'Master.'

"I'm Harry Potter, and I've just bought this building," Harry continued. There followed at least a full minute of 'Ooooh' and 'Ahhh' at the elves' good fortune in getting to meet the great wizard and defender of elves, Harry Potter. Eventually, Harry was able to continue.

"As you can see, we won't be able to use this floor until there has been a thorough cleanup. I can't even begin to think about repairs with things in this condition. I'd like…"

That was as far as he got.

Mort and Daisy turned and walked away from Harry and Kreacher, inventorying the rooms, noting tasks to be done and dividing up the labor. In a few minutes they were back.

"Can we begin?" Daisy asked.

"Can you do it?" Harry asked. He looked at Kreacher. That was what he wanted to know, originally, that and the cost.

"Absolutely, sir," said Mort. "Just give us the word."

"And the cost?" Harry asked.

Mort and Daisy looked at each other, then both turned toward Kreacher.

"Master, Mort and Daisy will appreciate the opportunity," Kreacher said. He looked at the elf couple and said something Harry didn't understand, at the same time he nudged Harry toward the hallway.

Mort and Daisy split up and went to work. Snapping fingers cleaned glass, brought animal droppings together in piles and swept gobs of cobwebs from corners.

"What?" Harry asked when he and Kreacher were alone.

"Master, the elves will be hurt if Master offers them money," Kreacher began. "Mort and Daisy are grateful for the work. If they don't exercise their magic they become ill. Master will have them fit by evening if he keeps them busy."

Harry thought over what Kreacher told him.

"In that case," he said. "Perhaps we'll continue on to the second floor when this one is clean."

Cleaning the second floor led to a discussion about repairs needed on two and three, some additional lighting, replacing the plumbing throughout the building. Mort had the new fixtures connected with the new supply and drain lines by the end of the day.

"Mort, have you done window replacement?" asked Harry.

"Yes, Master Harry," said the elf. It was obvious Mort struggled to contain his excitement. "Your building would be quite handsome if it had some new windows."

"Great," Harry said. "That is our first priority for tomorrow then—new windows throughout. Double pane? That would help keep the noise down, I think."

Mort rubbed his hands and grinned. The window job sounded like an excellent challenge.

"Our interiors need some attention," Harry said. "Daisy, what would you think you'd do if we started on a complete makeover inside these two? Patching all the plaster, stripping the wood trim, new paint? Probably one coat of a white primer on the walls, then two coats of the finish? White ceilings, I think. Colors, for the walls. We'd want to stick strictly to magical colors."

Harry's guess was correct. Daisy loved interiors, colors and magic. She wanted to get started. Harry had to remind everyone they had another day ahead, and besides, he'd called a halt to the day's work.

Harry had dinner at #12 Grimmauld Place that evening. The food was exceptional, even by Kreacher's standards. Harry watched Kreacher coming and going. All of the old lethargic air was gone. Kreacher was quick and efficient. Harry was presented with a substantial bowl of profiterole for dessert, even though he seldom requested dessert, and Kreacher generally did not plan the menu to include it.

"Something you wanted to discuss, Kreacher?" Harry asked.

Kreacher's pointed nose nearly touched the floor, his answering bow was so low.

"Since Master has asked, so kindly, Kreacher did want to inquire if Master had given any thought to the dungeon below #12 Grimmauld Place? Master might find many uses for his dungeon, were it available."

Harry kept his spoon in front of his mouth, failing to keep the grin from showing but having no other item behind which he could hide.

"The only time I looked, Kreacher," Harry said, "The dungeon was so full of…of…I don't know how to describe what's down there. It doesn't rise to the level of junk, I don't believe."

"Master is already thinking Kreacher's thoughts, so wise, so thoughtful," said the elf. "If the time comes when Master is finished working with his new building, Mort and Daisy will be seeking employment and it occurred to Kreacher that Master might wish to reclaim his dungeon, and restore it to usefulness?"

Harry thought about the uses he might have for his dungeon. If it was expandable, an indoor quidditch pitch might be one possibility. It also occurred to him that Kreacher might have fond memories of the dungeon, under the Blacks, that Harry would rather not know about.

The work on Harry's new building was done quickly and efficiently. The top two floors became apartments, for which Harry found magical renters almost immediately. The rent was sufficient to cover the monthly payment on the mortgage so Harry got his office for free.

Harry didn't know what he'd be doing in his office, although he had a feeling he was going to need an office, and that he would be wanting it in a location that got him away from his house most days. At the same time, even if he didn't want his working office at home, that didn't mean the working office couldn't have all the conveniences. Harry drew on the elves' collective expertise, cut about a third of the most extravagant options from the list, and treated himself to an office suitable for the chief executive of his organization. The elves did such a good job, and he had so much fun working with them on the project, he went right on and fixed up another office in similar style, for when he had a COO or General Manager or something of the sort.

Most of Harry's business consisted of attending to his minimal personal maintenance and monitoring his interests at Gringotts' Bank. He'd turned his real estate investment around so quickly he decided to meet with his mortgage officer and discuss refinancing. He had income from the property sufficient to service the mortgage. The apartments were snapped up as soon as he put them on the market, a strong indicator of the marketability, and therefore profitability of the building.

Harry sat across the desk and made his case. He didn't expect the goblin to be an easy sell. He was a goblin, and he loaned money. Difficult combination.

"And, of course, you or one of your colleagues is welcome to make a personal visit and look around, at any time," Harry concluded.

The mortgage officer studied the pages Harry brought showing the purchase price, the income from the two apartments, and the property description.

"You did this in less than three months, Mr. Potter," declared the goblin.

"Um, I suppose so," Harry said, trying to remember the timeline for his purchase.

"From derelict building to profitable investment, so quickly," said the goblin. "Remarkable, for a wizard…"

Harry looked up. He knew about goblin prejudices, of course, every wizard did. He must have let his guard down and shown displeasure.

"I mean no offense, of course, Mr. Potter," the goblin said, "Merely an observation. Well, I think Gringotts can accommodate you. You wish to refinance, paying off the old mortgage, redeeming the lien on #12 Grimmauld Place, and pledging the property itself as collateral for the loan. Have I stated everything correctly?"

"Yes, exactly," Harry said.

The goblin looked at a ledger, drawing a fingernail down a column of figures.

"Right," he said when he turned back toward Harry. "In essence, Gringotts initiates a new loan, for which the same fees that applied when you borrowed the original amount will be charged. There are fixed costs involved in loan origination that the bank must recover even if the original loan is only a few months old. You will need to apply for the loan as you did before. I'll have the parchment ready for signature tomorrow afternoon. The bank will get an independent appraisal so that an accurate figure appears in the mortgage documentation. I don't doubt you've added considerable value to the property just by occupying it and cleaning it up. Its condition before, well, that's the reason for the very favorable price you paid, isn't it?"

"It needed some work, certainly," Harry allowed.

"Yes, excellent observation," said the mortgage officer, peering at Harry from across his desk. "I can almost see a little goblin around the eyes. Are you sure you are all wizard, not, perhaps, a distant relation?"

That got to Harry, who laughed out loud, stood, and extended his hand across the desk.

"Pleasure doing business," Harry said.

"The pleasure is ours, Mr. Potter, make no mistake," said his interlocutor. "I look forward to many years of partnership."

Harry had a little income from earnings on investments, primarily shares in the profits of two potions that were perennial best-sellers with no effective competition in the market. Harry's building marked his first foray into making something of himself. He could have lived frugally on the bit of income he'd inherited. He knew people who did. He'd taken away a lesson from his tumultuous early life, though. One never knew what tomorrow would bring. What if tomorrow brought disaster? Then one might be glad to have a bit put aside.


	6. Chapter 6

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Six

Tragedy, Comedy, Mystery

After Harry sent Pansy to do some reading-in at the Ministry Records Office he stood outside his office door and considered his options for going home. It was a nice day, so he decided to walk. He lingered in the entryway and cast a little occlusion charm. He didn't feel like stopping for conversation, either in Diagon Alley or walking through Muggle London.

While he walked, he thought. He considered Morag's situation from this perspective and that. He concluded Pansy had settled on the right approach and put Morag out of his mind.

Harry wondered if Pansy was aware Romilda'd had a serious schoolgirl crush on him? He certainly hadn't forgotten. It had nearly cost Ron Weasley his life, although the end of that chain of events wasn't entirely Romilda's fault. It would be interesting to see what Pansy turned up in the archives, if anything. Pansy showed real concern when she was recounting her conversation with Romilda. If she was lucky, Romilda's story sounded worse than it was.

Harry's route took him past a magical news agent and coffee bar that was one of the reasons he'd chosen to live in London. The periodicals on sale were predominantly magical with a few popular muggle imprints of the lotto, football results and big color photo variety. Harry seldom picked up a paper or magazine, of any sort. He'd tried reading, after the Battle of Hogwarts, as a diversion and part of his therapy. He couldn't maintain his focus, which obviated the purpose of the exercise. Harry did often go around with a paperback volume of one of Shakespeare's plays, which he could read, as long as he was alone and could read all the parts aloud. He had no idea why that worked, just that it did.

The coffee bar served an excellent espresso. Harry ordered a double, and a glass of ice water, which he took to a round, stand-up table near the front window, sipping while he studied the street. Harry had to reverse his occlusion when he entered, otherwise he would not have been able to order his espresso. He hoped his location in the room would be sufficient for him to escape notice. The pedestrians he watched were writing novels, if one suspended judgment and left them alone. Novels to become lost in. Harry considering the muggle pedestrians very gracious to act out their novels for a damaged wizard who couldn't read a novel for pleasure.

"Hello, Harry," said a voice at Harry's elbow. Harry knew who it was without turning, because it was such a beautiful voice, one he often heard in his dreams. The owner was about the same height as Harry, with a headful of wavy hair that sat at the intersection of honey and lightly browned toast. He was smiling before he twisted around to say hello to the voice's owner.

"Daphne," he said. "You're…here."

"I am," she said.

"Can you stay for a coffee? Tea? Butterbeer?" Harry asked.

"I didn't know they served butterbeer here," said Daphne.

"I just took a guess," Harry said. "I don't know, either, whether, I mean."

Daphne gave him a skeptical look.

"So, Harry, what is going on with you?" Daphne asked. She had a way of cutting through unnecessary impedimenta to get to the information she really wanted.

"Business," said Harry. "I own a building, or two, and there is another one available. I think I'm going to make an offer."

"And your do-gooding?"

"Oh, I try," said Harry. "First, do no harm. It applies to do-gooding just like it does in healing."

Daphne looked like she wanted to compliment Harry for the wisdom he was showing. Instead she simply nodded.

Harry waited for Daphne to say something, anything, just to keep the conversation going, but it didn't seem like she was interested enough. She was still standing there, looking at him, though. Could it hurt to try a little harder? Oh, why not?

"Can I get you something? Or we could go somewhere, maybe have something to eat? It's early, I know…"

Daphne stared into Harry's eyes, not reacting at all. A smile did break through, finally.

"I do happen to be free," Daphne said.

"Not expected home? Sorry, that's prying, isn't it?" said Harry.

"No, and yes," Daphne advised, "Prying isn't a capital crime, last time I looked."

"Thank Merlin," Harry said. "So, espresso here, or do I drink up and we depart?"

"It's early, for dinner," said Daphne.

"We could pass by the house," Harry suggested. "You haven't seen it since it's been cleaned up. You won't be in mortal danger, I promise."

Daphne showed Harry her Sphinx face again.

"Fine," she said, her decision carrying the weight of an official pronouncement. "I suppose you're walking?"

She knew he was odd that way, for a wizard.

"I was," Harry said. "We don't have to."

"Oh, I don't want to miss the observations of this and that along the way," said Daphne.

Harry took his last sip of espresso. Stepping out onto the old-fashioned cast iron steps, he held the door open for Daphne as she followed him out and down onto the sidewalk.

"Hold still," he said, casting his occlusionary charm on the two of them.

The distance from the espresso bar to #12 Grimmauld Place wasn't long, not quite two miles. Harry tried not to overdo the observation of the street scene. He hadn't decided just how to take Daphne's comment on his customary tour-guidance. Maybe he was too wordy or came off sounding judgmental. That might be a subject for some future meditation.

They approached #12 from the far side of the park. Harry always liked coming up on the house from that direction. The row of townhouses was pleasing to look at, a handsome London block with an ageless quality. He calculated the timing of his charm so the steps appeared for them just when they were needed.

"Please," Harry said, motioning Daphne to go ahead.

"Kreacher," said Daphne.

"Miss Daphne," Kreacher replied as he bowed in greeting. "Welcome back to #12 Grimmauld Place."

"Perhaps a pot of tea, Kreacher?" Harry said. "Miss Daphne may wish to freshen up, then, if it pleases her, I suggest the garden."

Harry looked over at Daphne, awaiting an answer to the implied question, but Daphne didn't feel like giving anything away. She handed Kreacher her cloak, something diaphanous, probably acromantula silk, then stood still while she looked over the foyer, floor to ceiling.

"Wherever you want to entertain a guest, Harry," Daphne said. "I will take a moment, thank-you. I can see from here the powder room has had a makeover."

Harry left her to it and went on to the garden at the rear of the building. He was still pondering the pros and cons of his prospective real estate deal when Harry heard the latch to the patio door.

"I took the liberty," Daphne said as she stepped out of the house, into the townhouse garden, carrying a tray with a teapot, two cups and two saucers.

Harry wondered how she had managed to get Kreacher to agree to that. Perhaps his elf had a secret soft spot.

"Oh, thank-you," Harry said as he stood. He'd never get to the bottom of it, so he'd be as gracious as possible and move on.

"The kitchen is spectacular, Harry," Daphne said. "You could open a restaurant with that kitchen."

"Most of it was here, if you can believe it," Harry said. "Kreacher really turned it on. The key was getting everything out. There was a place for nearly all of it, but over the years the disorganization won out. Kreacher put it all somewhere, then came the cleaning, the trash-hauling, and the painting, then he brought everything back in and polished it before putting it away. That's what you see now."

Harry thought perhaps he was going on too long and decided to shut up. He picked up his teacup and put it to his lips, to make sure he wouldn't talk for a bit.

"The garden looks nice," Daphne said.

Harry didn't want to talk about the garden. He wanted to know what Daphne Greengrass was doing, showing up at one of his magical London hangouts. Daphne was a magical society healer. A pureblood witch herself, her typical patient was from old money and lots of it. She wouldn't have set foot in his magical newsstand/coffee bar on any imaginable errand save looking for Harry Potter. Harry wondered if he was conversationally capable of teasing out Daphne's motivation. Did he have the necessary skill?

"Thank-you," said Harry. "That's Kreacher and two gardening elves he knows from somewhere. Their magic is something to see. They can't get rid of the stalks and dead leaves, for some reason. I supply a good-sized bag and they stuff it full and take it with them when they go. I've no idea what they do with it all."

Something about Harry's mystery, or the elves, or all of it put together struck Daphne as very funny. She let out what was certainly a suppressed chuckle which got Harry laughing along. With the ice broken, Harry and Daphne traded queries and answers concerning what each had been doing since they last saw one another. Harry topped up the tea cups regularly, going through his best perfect host motions, hoping he was getting them right. Eventually the pot of tea was dry and all the tea was in their cups, being sipped. When they were done, they looked across the table.

"Did you want to get something to eat?" Harry asked.

"This has gone so well, Harry," said Daphne. "Can we save that? For the next time?"

Harry must have shot her a questioning look.

"Yes, I will agree to a next time," Daphne added, in explanation.

Harry nodded, and stood. He held out his hand.

"I've learned never to question your judgment," he said.

Harry kept Daphne's hand in his, not really gripping it, as they walked back through the main hall of #12 Grimmauld Place. Kreacher waited at the front door, ready to hand Daphne her beautiful cloak.

"Well, then," Harry said. "Until."

"Yes, Harry," said Daphne. She added a beautiful smile, as a full stop, perhaps. Then she stepped onto the top step of #12 Grimmauld Place and disapparated.

"More tea, Master Harry?" asked Kreacher.

"Excellent suggestion, Kreacher," said Harry. "I'll be in the garden."

Harry sat at the steel patio table, thinking about magical London real estate. He found it fascinating, the way some people dress for the weather and go out birding, first thing in the morning, every day. It was one of the subjects that could give his mind a place to rest, to get away from the puzzles he couldn't solve. Open-ended questions, like, what in Hades did Daphne Greengrass have on her mind?

Harry put that aside, knowing it would be there, waiting, whenever he let his idle mind find its own subject matter. In the meantime, he'd think about making a couple of galleons.

Magical real estate was a rarefied commodity. There was only so much of it. A wizard could buy a few acres out of town someplace. If it didn't have the local muggle swimming hole on it, the land could accept enchantments for a wide variety of purposes. The wizard could take it all the way to occlusion, if he wanted to. Again, the presumption being the local muggle community wouldn't miss some well-established feature.

Urban blocks, on the other hand, seldom featured in mundane-to-magical conversions. When both economies were growing, the demand for business fronts and housing ensured an offer would be forthcoming for almost any vacancy. A wizard could buy a non-magical building, it went without saying. However, he'd have a difficult time occluding an established landmark, were that a necessary part of his site plan.

That was the genesis of Harry's accumulation of magical real estate. Even if he didn't have an immediate purpose when he bought it, Harry discovered those had a way of emerging, once he had acquired the asset. His formula was the same as when he had bought and improved his very modest, first building near Diagon Alley. Given a solid structure, Harry, Kreacher, Mort and Daisy could handle any amount of trash and detritus. Mort loved working on plumbing, repairing laid-up brick and stone, replacing doors and windows. Daisy was the same with paint, plaster molding and wooden trim. Flats were usually rented before the renovations were complete.

Harry sat in the garden until nearly full dark. He wasn't hungry enough for dinner, making do with a sandwich, an elaborate invention of Kreacher's, starting with a long roll, toasted, shredded mild cheddar, mixed greens, tomatoes and minced onion. At some point, about halfway through the sandwich, Harry made his decision to buy the building. He wasn't even concerned about the asking price, although that was a little high, by ten or fifteen percent. Harry decided if he paid a little premium the renovations should make the building rentable at such a favorable rate he still ought to show a profit as soon as he found renters.

Harry started thinking about the rest of his evening. He had treated an old friend to tea and conversation, eaten a substantial sandwich that took away his appetite for dinner and come to a decision about a business matter. Other than making an appointment with a loan officer at Gringotts Bank and submitting a formal offer on the building he'd decided to buy, Harry could not come up with any useful ideas for the rest of the evening. It was much too early to go upstairs to bed. Harry looked at his watch.

"Oh, good," he thought.

It was fifteen minutes before curtain, plenty of time for a wizard to get to the theater. Harry liked a small theater that employed a lot of young, talented actors. It wasn't crowded for most performances, the exception being two or three times a year when one of the respected critics raved about a production. About half of the plays were by Shakespeare, the other half new work or something from the canon. Harry was pleasantly surprised to learn he'd be seeing _Measure for Measure._

"Wow," Harry thought when he exited nearly three hours later. The actors had thrown themselves into their roles. _Measure for Measure _was counted among the comedies, Harry knew. He pondered Isabel's fate, and that of the other female characters. What happened to them wasn't the stuff of comedy. He considered some witches of his acquaintance and decided magical Britain hadn't progressed very far in its treatment of witches. Harry thought of Romilda Vane, whose own father had, according to the report from Pansy, sold her like a commodity to an ancient European wizard, who Mr. Vane then let carry his own daughter off to some gloomy castle.

Harry considered stopping for a nightcap at the Leaky Cauldron, decided against it and went on home by apparition. His last thoughts before drifting off to sleep were of Daphne Greengrass, who had once given him the deepest, most debilitating crush he'd ever experienced. It was too bad he had not sorted his emotional and behavioral issues before he was smitten. Break up in haste, repent at leisure was genuine, practical wisdom. They'd seen just enough of each other to plant a seed, which had begun to germinate. There had been the beginnings of love, and it was still there. That was his last conscious thought, and the cause of the smile he wore as he went to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Seven

Design and Coincidence

"Well, that's interesting," said Harry Potter. "As far as it goes. Good work, Pansy. I'm going to suggest, and you can tell me if you think I'm wrong, that we just leave it alone. If it becomes obvious Romilda wants and needs help, we come back. Otherwise we won't interfere in her life."

They were sitting in Harry's office at Harry Potter and Associates, drinking coffee that Kreacher had delivered. Pansy Parkinson let the coffee slide over her tongue. It was hot, but not too hot, and strong. Just strong enough. The subtle notes were there, in just the right relationship to the dominant arabica flavor.

"Kreacher is a genius," said Pansy. "I may have said that before."

"Still true," said Harry.

"Okay, Romilda knows where to find me," said Pansy. "I wonder what she'd like to do, now she's back here?"

"I'd say there's at least half a chance she'd like to live quietly and be left alone," Harry said. "Sounds like the husband's family…"

"They don't have a good record," Pansy allowed.

No, they didn't. Pansy's research at the Ministry of Magic archives had taken a strange turn. That wasn't a surprise, though, because research in magical archives was a dictionary definition of strange.

Romilda Vane's husband's family came to prominence in the late Roman period, holding a high valley in some rugged territory astride the boundary of the Alps proper. They used magic to keep themselves independent during the centuries it took Roman law to deflate in their part of the world. Whenever demobilized mercenaries or rootless brigands came to the valley looking for loot they had to travel through a forest that hadn't been visible from the high point where the band had reconnoitered their target. They went in, and they didn't come out.

The odd straggler, the one lagging behind with the pack animals, might occasionally return to what passed for civilization with tales of fifty good, proven men going in. That was it: going in. There were always screams heard sufficient to curdle blood. Some reported hearing the breaking of bones.

As the family's command of magic increased they ceased depending on their fighting skills to protect the valley and came to depend more and more on terror, living behind layers of wards of increasing power. One legend spread all over that part of Europe—if a wizard could breach the last ward, he would gain a duchy and take his pick of all the females in the family.

An ancient witch, living in Vienna in the 1920's went on record stating the legend had elements of truth, although the only wizard to make it through the final wards slept with all of the fertile females, with the entire family's blessing, for a period of sixty days. Then he was butchered and eaten at a banquet as a way of honoring him for his help in rejuvenating the family bloodlines. The account was never confirmed because the witch died shortly after telling the tale, then the 1930's arrived bringing the horrors that convulsed Europe for the next fifteen years. A few copies of the witch's tale survived in dusty files archived in magical ministries here and there.

"I have to say Pansy, that is an outstanding magical tale," Harry said, when Pansy finished relating what she had found. "What a way to start the day. Merlin!"

"Ah…alright," said Pansy, "Although, outstanding magical tale or not, I may require help getting it out of my nightmares."

"There's that," Harry said. "The scales have to balance. I'm in your debt. Thanks for sticking with it. I'm not sure I'd have done."

"Poppycock, Harry Potter," said Pansy. "That's right up your alley. You'd have critiqued them like a proper subject matter expert."

"I expect you're right," said Harry, his tone shading a bit toward rueful. "Well, new business: I'm going to sit across a desk from a goblin shortly and talk about that property I mentioned. Can you stay and hold down the office? Anything you've got to do that you can do right here?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Pansy said. "I've been wanting to take a few minutes and compose a little note to Morag. Kind of a thank-you for her gracious hospitality but really a place holder. Something to tell her we have her in mind, all the way down here."

"Oh, how long will that take?" asked Harry.

"Several drafts, to get all the nuance right," said Pansy.

"So no problem staying until I get back?"

"No, of course not, go ahead," Pansy said.

"Thanks," said Harry. "I'm off."

Harry checked in with the goblin in the lobby and sat down to watch Gringotts at work pending the arrival of his loan officer. He didn't expect to do more than give the goblin the address of the building and a rough verbal description of his plans for improvements and the projected return. Then he would recede into the background while the bank's bureaucracy did its due diligence, returning when it was time for him to sign for the loan, or, alternatively, informed of the bank's refusal of his application.

"How much?" the goblin asked after Harry had outlined the deal. They sat in an office in what would have been the commercial loan section of a muggle bank. The goblins worked in ledgers with oil lamps and candles for illumination. Computers had never been used at Gringotts. Harry had occasional business at muggle banks. He detested the banks and their muggle bankers. He'd rather be turned down at Gringotts than get a loan approved by muggles.

Harry gave the price of the building and what he thought it would cost for the improvements he had in mind.

"Certainly," said the goblin. "I'll recommend approval to the committee and have the parchment ready when they take the vote. They meet tomorrow morning. With luck you can close a day or two later."

"Oh," said Harry, leaning back into his chair. "Thank-you. I didn't expect such speedy service."

"Mr. Potter," said the goblin. "The time when Gringotts scrutinized your applications in detail is past. You've got a fine portfolio developing, at a very young age. You seem to have an aversion to getting over-extended, a critical virtue for a businessman. You have earned a little slackening of the leash."

The goblin grinned, showing his rows of pointed teeth. Harry smiled back, stood, and extended his hand.

"Should I look for an owl tomorrow afternoon?" Harry asked.

"I think, the day after, just to be sure," the goblin answered.

Harry checked the time as he left the bank, decided it was close enough and went on to the Leaky Cauldron. He stepped inside and paused to let his eyes adjust. Something smelled good. Harry's stomach agreed, if its growl was any indication. Harry found a table and sat.

"Harry!" said Neville Longbottom. Harry turned and saw his classmate and fellow Gryffindor coming toward him.

"Neville, good to see you," Harry said, standing and extending his hand. "Got time to have a coffee? Share a pot of tea?"

"With a little negotiation, shouldn't be too hard," said Neville. He left Harry at the table and went off, almost certainly looking for his wife, and employer, Hannah Abbott Longbottom.

"What's on your mind?" asked Neville as he offloaded the tea, cups and saucers from his tray.

"Business," said Harry. "I was wondering, since we're allied, if you have any interest in joint ventures. I'm in the middle of negotiations for a building. If everything falls into place, and I've no reason to doubt it will, it ought to be profitable within two or three years. If you think you might want to go in on some projects I can show you the books on the buildings I've taken on."

Neville sat, thinking.

"How many buildings do you have?" he asked.

"Four," said Harry. "Rentals, that is. Not counting the houses, of course."

"Impressive," said Neville. "Sure, I'd like to put something in. How do you propose we organize it?"

"Partnership, half-and-half," Harry said. "Major decisions by consensus, in case of impasse one of us offers our share to the other at fair market value."

"Ought to work," said Neville. "Want to talk numbers?"

"Sure," said Harry. "The one I'm working on buying is all-magical, four floors, three flats and a business front on the ground level. There is a basement that could have potential as a café or some other commercial purpose. Magical bookstore, herbalist, whatever. They're asking four hundred-fifty thousand, I put fifty down, borrowing the balance from the goblins. The loan will be secured by the building. The flats are rented and the rents are a little below what the monthly payment will be. I'll put some work into the ground floor, but that is mostly me, Kreacher, Mort and Daisy, so it's all magic and doesn't cost anything except materials. That's the rough outline."

"Merlin, Harry, it sounds like you've found the key to the mint," said Neville as he leaned back into his chair. "Why would you want to cut yourself out of half?"

"It's getting to be a full-time job," Harry said, "I think it's time to get some help so I'm not captured by it. All I wanted at the beginning was a little office space."

"Oh, yes, business," said Neville. He looked around at the rapidly-filling dining area of the Leaky Cauldron. "If you're growing, the work is never-ending. If you're steady, you're really going broke."

"So, what do you think?" Harry asked. "If you're interested in the one I'm working on, the business with Gringotts is already underway, so if I get it you can see all the documentation and buy half from me. Make sure your legal adviser is happy. And Miss Hannah."

"Sure, we'll talk," said Neville. "Got customers."

With that, Neville hopped up out of his chair and went looking for tables and chairs to match up with people. Harry thought about staying for a sandwich, changed his mind and went back to his office. It was a pleasant day, so Harry treated himself to a walk through Diagon Alley. He was letting himself linger a bit in front of a show window full of broomsticks when someone called his name.

"Harry."

He turned around.

"Daphne. Again."

"Don't say it with so much enthusiasm," Daphne said.

"Oh, stop," protested Harry. "Of course I'm happy to see you. It's just a surprise, two days in a row. After how many months? Would your owl even recognize me?"

Daphne looked away. Harry waited for Daphne to finish thinking over wherever she wanted to go next. They'd left open the possibility of seeing one another again. At the time, a chance encounter in Diagon Alley wasn't what Harry had envisioned.

"Can we talk?" Daphne said, at last.

"Of course," said Harry. "May I suggest my office? It's private, Kreacher would be delighted to bring you coffee, or tea, or some ice cream…"

Daphne thought it over some more.

"Yes, all right, that will be fine. Your office," she said.

"This way," said Harry.

One short walk later, Harry opened the street door into Harry Potter and Associates. No one was around the foyer, but Pansy came out from an interior office after Harry called out a 'Hullo' down the corridor.

"Daphne!" said Pansy. "Well. It's been…"

"A year, two, maybe?" said Daphne.

The former housemates stood looking at each other for a bit, then Pansy stepped forward with open arms. Daphne let herself be pulled in, close, even reciprocating a bit.

"What brings you here?" asked Pansy, before she realized that might be none of her business, and looked sideways at Harry.

"Coffee," said Harry. "Kreacher!"

A few minutes later, Harry had Pansy and Daphne accommodated in his office, a fresh pot of Kreacher's best magical shade-grown Central American arabica nearby, and the two Slytherins set about catching up. Harry was improvising. He knew Daphne had to have something on her mind, for her to show up twice in two days. It wasn't like Daphne to have anything happen by chance. If she had come looking for him, she had a reason.

Harry thought now and then of what was, once, a budding relationship between himself and Daphne Greengrass. They had barely spoken during their first six years at Hogwarts School, largely due to the house rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Harry had noticed Daphne, during first year. Daphne had noticed Harry during first year, too. Still, it wasn't until midway through fifth year that Harry became conscious of the changes to his internal state whenever Daphne was close by. If they happened to glance at one another at the same time, Daphne had a way of dropping her head a few degrees and looking at Harry from under her long brown eyelashes, holding his eyes before giving him a little half-smile, turning up her mouth at one corner.

When that happened, Harry's class notes for the next half hour were useless. Harry had Hermione, though, luckily for him. Hermione would always let Harry compare their notes, allowing Harry to fill in the gaps caused by the attack of carnal thoughts featuring Daphne Greengrass.

Harry was a mess following his showdown with Voldemort. There wasn't anything unusual in that. Lots of witches and wizards were in the same condition right then. At least they'd survived. Daphne was the other party in one of the personal relationships Harry destroyed before he figured out he needed help. Unfortunately for Harry, he'd fallen, hard, for Daphne Greengrass before their split. Harsh words were spoken. Pride precluded either reaching out, offering peace and a new start. Harry longed for just that, but he couldn't make himself do it, rationalizing his inaction by telling himself he had destroyed any chance they'd had.

Pansy held up her side of the conversation in the office for a half hour, or a little better, before pleading a pressing need for something to eat. She took her leave with another hug for Daphne and a promise to get together for tea or coffee or something, one day soon. Harry followed her to the foyer.

"Got anything else you want to do?" Harry muttered.

"Not really, why? Do you want me to stay away?" Pansy asked.

"It's not too much trouble to take your time, is it? If I need extricating, it will be about two hours from now."

Pansy broke out into a huge grin.

"Okay," Pansy said. She looked at her watch. "Two-fifteen?"

Harry nodded, closing the street door behind her.

"Daphne," he said as he re-entered his own office. He left the inner door halfway open. Daphne took a look at the door, then back at Harry.

"No one else," Harry said. "It's just us. What can I do for you?"

Daphne Greengrass stiffened, surprised by Harry's direct question and her own reaction. She took a few seconds to marshal her thoughts.

"I—I'm not sure, exactly," Daphne began, then stopped.

Harry gave her a little time to become sure before he spoke up.

"Something's on your mind, Daphne," he said. "You've accidentally, just happened, to encounter me in a public place twice in two days. That's since not seeing me for…When was Neville and Hannah's wedding reception? A year? Eighteen months? That is not you, Daphne."

"Oh, fine, then," said Daphne. "You aren't sleeping with Pansy, are you?"

"Daphne," said Harry. "For Merlin's sake. You're a healer. Have you ever heard of confidentiality? If that's what you came…"

Harry was shifting his weight, getting ready to stand and escort her out when Daphne spoke, sounding a bit frantic.

"Stop! I didn't mean it that way," she said. "I just meant, if you aren't seeing anyone, you know, dating…"

Harry knew there was something he'd ought to be worried about but he didn't have enough information to decide what it was. All he knew was the Daphne Greengrass sitting across from him was rattled and not the cool, even-tempered professional woman he'd known.

"You want to try again? With me?" Harry asked. Even he heard the disbelief in his own voice.

"We didn't last long enough to try, really, did we?" Daphne asked, a little snicker in her voice.

"No," Harry admitted. He thought back to their final farewell, the end of their seeing each other, as singles in the initial stages of something. Harry had been an ass. He'd learned to label his behavior 'acting out' in some therapy session or another. Harry didn't act out now. He hoped that was all behind him.

"Look, Daphne, I had high hopes. I screwed those up. I've said it before and I'll say it now. It was my fault, I take full responsibility, and there is no reason for you to give me…anything. You did the right thing. No one who conducted himself like I did deserved to be friends with you, much less anything more. Do you see a way forward from that?"

"Harry, you were in pain," Daphne said. "I could see it, I just wasn't wise enough or experienced enough to do anything about it. Nothing effective, let's say."

"So you were right to run me off," Harry said. "If everything hadn't been so disrupted by the war your parents might have had the presence of mind to steer you away from me before things went as far as they did."

Daphne sat back in her chair. Harry noticed her coffee cup was empty. He picked up the carafe Kreacher had left them and touched the side with his free hand. Harry closed his eyes and kept his hand flat on the carafe. In less than a minute he was pouring another steaming coffee for Daphne.

"Show-off," Daphne said. She smiled the half-smile.

"I don't know," Harry said. "I'd very much like to progress from where we were. The idea that we wouldn't go further, romantically, was a little hard to accept, but I got over it. Not being able to have a civil conversation, though. That I never got used to. It seemed inevitable we would see one another, from time to time, just being a witch and a wizard, living in London. The thought that you would always cross the room, or the street, to avoid me, that hurt."

Harry poured two fingers of coffee in his own cup, picked it up and took a sip.

"It hurt twice as much knowing I did it to myself," he said, then took a little pause. "So, what brought this on?"

Daphne stiffened once again. Harry knew. What exactly, Daphne was fairly sure Harry didn't know, but he knew she wasn't simply giving the old not-quite-boyfriend another chance.

"If you don't want to talk about it right now, we won't talk about it," Harry said. "Eventually…"

"Can we put it off? Until then?" Daphne asked. "It's hard. Dirty laundry. Family."

"Daphne," Harry said, "I've been a mess. I know them when I see them."

"Harry Potter, don't you dare patronize me!"

"Uh-huh," said Harry. "Any of this sound familiar?"

Harry closed his mouth and waited, half-expecting a stream of expletives followed by a Daphne exit and a slammed door. Instead, Daphne buried her face in her hands and started to sob.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Acknowledgment**_: _The author makes no claims. The characters in this story come from the works of J.K. Rowling, or are characters created to interact with those. Many thanks to Ms. Rowling for all of her work and for allowing us to embroider around the edges_.

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Eight

The Greengrass Consultations

Harry let Daphne take her time, working through whatever she had to work through. He had no idea what it was, so he thought it would be best to keep his mouth shut. They hadn't been close when they were in school. The tentative steps they'd taken after the war didn't progress enough for close. Offering a hug would have made them both uncomfortable. Harry did have a box of tissues. Perhaps he could start there.

"Daphne?" Harry said. He worked at keeping his volume low.

"Here, please," he said, trying to push the box into Daphne's possession while also not being pushy. It was a fine line.

"Thanks," Daphne said, taking the whole box.

Daphne didn't look at Harry while she got herself together. When she did look, Harry had a bit of a start, which must have shown, because Daphne had one of her own. She sat up straight, defiance in her reddened eyes.

"I'm sorry for bothering you, Harry Potter. I should go," said Daphne as she stood.

"Why don't you sit down and we'll see if there is anything to be done, that we can do together, about this problem of yours?" asked Harry.

Daphne sat back down.

"Here's what I see, Daphne," Harry said. "You have some kind of issue, something that is causing extreme stress. You just started crying, right in front of me. Your problem is nearing a crisis, or so it appears from your perspective. You're reluctant to talk about it, which makes me think the problem is of a personal nature. You've reached out to me, so you don't feel safe opening up to someone from your own social set and background. You've bumped up against some old-time, pureblood thing, is my guess. Cyrus sees you, educated, single, soon to age out of your prime years and thinks that's a wasted asset. Is that it? The parents want to sell you off to raise cash?"

"Ohh…Harry Potter! I think I liked you better as a train wreck," Daphne said. She had a tissue, balled up, that she focused on un-balling, pulling the delicate thing out, little by little, from the central clump. Harry wondered why she didn't just pull another from the box he'd given her. He wasn't counting. When Daphne got enough tissue free, she dabbed the corners of her eyes.

"Bathroom?" Daphne asked, standing up and tossing the tissue in Harry's bin.

"Right there," Harry said, waving his hand toward the door in the corner of the office. Harry poured a little more coffee while he waited for Daphne to return. He'd just finished emptying the carafe when the door opened.

"Harry Potter, is there anything possible one can put in a bathroom that you haven't put in your bathroom?" Daphne asked.

"Now, those are all just basic bathroom fixtures…" Harry began, before Daphne cut him off.

"Have you ever used the bidet?" Daphne asked.

"I, myself, no, but the time might come. A contingency, someone who needs one, or…or…" said Harry. "Actually, there is a story behind that."

"Of course," said Daphne. "There just had to be, didn't there?"

"So, can I interest you in some more coffee? Or a switch to mineral water, lemonade, iced tea? Sandwich or snack?" Harry asked.

Daphne sighed.

"One more coffee wouldn't hurt," she said.

Kreacher came and went, taking the empty carafe and leaving behind a full one. Daphne took a sip and stared at her cup.

"It's complicated," she began. "My father, Cyrus, is not what you'd call well-educated, but he was fairly successful nonetheless. He played quidditch at Hogwarts and went on to play as a professional. They didn't have the payrolls they have today, so the players were mostly in it for the fun, taking home a few galleons at the end of a game. He hung on for a few years but the offers dried up and he retired. Still, being a former quidditch pro opens doors. Someone in the family a few generations back made butterbeer, then they were bought out by a larger firm. We still have shares from that deal. They've grown in value and split a few times. Those and a couple of other things combine to make a modest cushion so Father could work for businesses and people he liked, as opposed to what he calls 'purely mercenary' employment. In other words, an occupation that makes money."

"Even so," Harry interjected, "Investments, endorsements, public appearances, and don't you have an estate? Am I hearing the Greengrass's have money problems?"

"Oh…Yes," said Daphne. "Income and outflow are out of balance. The parents, they've got a problem."

"Alcohol," Harry guessed. It wasn't a question.

"That's part of it," said Daphne. "Cordelia—my mother—has been a tippler forever. I still remember getting her 'special grape juice' confused with my grape juice one morning at breakfast. I must have been three or four. To this day…well, I don't suffer a lot of hangovers. But, back to my tale of woe. Father always handled the money. He made it and we were never without, so Mother relaxed in the back seat with her lap robe and flask and let him hold the reins. Let me say I don't worry about him dragging me down with him. It's Astoria."

"I thought she and Draco were seeing one another?" Harry said. "Why aren't they married, anyway? Isn't she of age?"

"We're almost there," Daphne said. She paused to take another sip of her coffee. "I don't worry about getting dragged down because I'm free of my familial obligations. He got in a tight spot shortly after I completed my studies and entered into practice. I did well right from the beginning. The people in my register, let's say, they can afford to pay their healer. Father came to me with a proposition. Basically, he'd sell me to a Selwyn and get out of the hole he was in. I'd earn his appreciation for being a loyal and obedient daughter. I made a counter-offer; I'd match Selwyn's offer and Cyrus would free me, complete with an oath to that effect. He stomped around and snorted for two or three days. Mother hid in her room with an elf and a selection of fortified wild fruit wines."

"He saw things your way?" Harry asked.

"Oh, yes, once he saw that I had sufficient grit, which I'm certain came as a complete revelation," answered Daphne. "I didn't have the cash right then, but I went to the goblins and let them see my ledger. I got what he needed with my signature. That may have hurt worse than anything. He was humiliated. He'd gone through life thinking he was a multi-millionaire wizard sportsman. He had to glad-hand for his employers, who he always insisted on calling 'associates.' He thought that was doing business. He was successful at it, therefore, he was a successful businessman. They kept him around for the smile and the nostalgia. Then he aged out. All the real movers and shakers he knew were replaced in leadership by younger people. Then his daughter turns out to have the clout to get Gringotts to front her the money to get him out of his jam and herself free of him."

"So the income dried up," said Harry, completing Daphne's thought.

"Exactly," she said.

"But he has the estate, the investments you mentioned," said Harry.

"All in hock or the income committed elsewhere. One big juggling act," Daphne said.

"You seem to be financially competent," Harry went on. "Any chance you can get a look at the accounts and put things on a better course?"

"Remember what I said about humiliation? He's still the titular head of the family and in charge of our joint affairs. He has a seat on the Wizengamot. I don't have a lot of exposure. I made sure of that after the last time. My practice and thrifty habits ought to have me in a pretty good position a few years hence. Were it me alone he could sleep on his ledgers."

"Ah," said Harry, making the connections at last. "Astoria."

Daphne reached for the tissue box as she gave Harry a few silent head nods. He let her collect herself, at her own pace. He wasn't expected anywhere. Harry thought through what Daphne had just told him and looked for someplace where he could come in and make a contribution.

From what he had heard so far, it sounded to Harry like a wizard, and head of house, had been responsible for the management of the family resources and botched the job. It happens. He didn't envy the family members who would be faced with the choice of wresting control of the family property and accounts from an incompetent, thus shaming him before his peers and relatives, or letting him continue to flail.

"I don't know, Harry," Daphne said, freeing Harry from his reverie. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea."

"Maybe, maybe not," Harry said. "I'm very sorry to hear about your family stress. What do you think he wants to do about Astoria?"

Daphne breathed in and let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

"In plain terms, he wants to sell her, the same as he did me."

Harry leaned back in his chair. When he got all the way back, he flexed his feet and ankles, just enough to do a little rocking. Daphne closed her eyes and listened to the rhythmic squeaks. They ought to have been annoying, but they weren't.

"How much does he owe? Who does he owe it to?" Harry asked.

"Hard to say," Daphne said. "He won't talk about it, and if he answers one question, he'll seldom answer two. Gringotts holds a note on the estate. He has been managing to make the scheduled payments, somehow."

"Have you talked to your mother? Any chance she knows more than she wants people to think?"

"Yes, and I don't think so," Daphne said. "I've never seen any sign of the manipulative skills that would be necessary to pry the books out of his hands."

Daphne's matter-of-fact description of what it would take for her mother to take some control of her own finances got to Harry, who burst out laughing.

"What?" demanded Daphne.

"Your offhand reference to everyday manipulative skills," said Harry. "It just sounded so…normal."

"Ha! Hahahahaha!"

Daphne laughed, a real, taken-by-surprise belly laugh. It was the first display of genuine, unguarded mirth Harry could remember seeing from her.

"Well, Harry, for all the old pureblood snobbery and claims to understanding and sophistication and recognition of arts and manners and how to live life, far beyond what muggles can even imagine, there is no one more backward, more condescending and downright disrespectful to women than an old-time pureblood head of family. I see it in my own, in my practice, and in the Daily Prophet. Consequently, according to the rules of natural selection, witches with unusual insight, habitual reticence and subtlety, along with a lack of compunction for using whatever tools were ready at hand to get control of the forces influencing their lives, were at a competitive advantage. If the standard, prejudiced, out-of-the package chief let himself be led around by his nose, or his reproductive urges, or something else, that's a shame, isn't it? Especially if he didn't have it coming, the poor rarity."

Harry sat, no longer rocking, staring into Daphne's eyes. He didn't speak until he had formed the question in his mind:

"And you actually think you need me for something?"

Daphne laughed again.

"Harry Potter, you scamp! Yes, I need you. You asked all the right questions and nothing that didn't pertain. Your natural business sense comes out everywhere. Plus, you're a wizard. I could win every prize for healing in the magical world, master all the subspecialties and get all the certificates and I'd still be a witch," Daphne said. "I have no credibility worrying my pretty little head over these business matters. Why, I'm still single! If I were truly smart, I'd work at making myself more attractive and see if I couldn't find a nice, intelligent, good-looking wizard to marry. Then he could make a living for the two of us and take care of me the way I deserve."

They took a break from conversation for a nice, extended staring session.

"Okay," said Harry. "I'm in. Something about the problem, maybe the complexity. Whatever, let's take some time and think this through…"

Pansy had long since come and gone. It was after seven by the time Harry stood up and stretched.

"Ah…" he said, waving a hand toward the bathroom door to finish a sentence.

"Where do you want to eat?" Harry asked when he stepped back into the office.

"I was going home," Daphne said. "Did you know you can make soup in a paper cup with just boiling water? The muggles have to put their kettle on one of their ranges, of course…"

"No," Harry said.

"Well, someplace fast, not fancy, then, I'm hungry and I have to get to sleep," said Daphne. "Tomorrow's a work day, and a healer's got to be alert."

"Um," said Harry, acquiescing. "Let's go."

Harry led the way back to Diagon Alley and the little courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron. He stopped, reached around Daphne's waist and grabbed a good handful of her cloak.

"Harry Potter, you aren't taking me…" Daphne managed, before they disappeared.

"…to Grimmauld Place, are you?"

Before she finished she knew her assumption was off, by a couple of hundred miles. She looked around a beautiful harbor, the lights on the quay and some of the boats shining on the water, while opposite she saw a row of lovely buildings, two and three stories tall.

"This is…?"

"Penzance," said Harry. "There's nothing fancy to keep you up late and the pub grub will be just as good this time of night. Possibly better. I hope fish and chips or pasties are on your list of approved…"

"If I hadn't just spent hours and hours convincing you to help me out with something, Harry Potter, I'd invite you to kiss my magical…"

"Promises, promises," Harry said. "Let's see what's open."

Harry led the way to the row of two-story buildings that led away from the quay at a hard right angle, climbing a long hill before disappearing a few yards into the gloom.

"You passed the entrance," Daphne said.

"Yes, and no," said Harry. He turned into a little penetration in the wall. It could have been mistaken for a shadow if one didn't know where one was going. The space was a flat black cave entrance until they stepped into it, then it got a bit lighter. There weren't any lamps or other visible light sources.

"Ah, now that's magical," said Daphne.

"You noticed," said Harry. "Pretty smart, for a witch. Especially such an attractive one."

"Hsssss…" said Daphne as Harry pushed a door open, stepped inside, and held it. He led the way to a booth along the wall opposite the bar. The room wasn't all that big. All the illumination seemed to come from candles and hurricane lamps. Even so, the smoky scent added a little to the atmospherics, without burning eyes or lungs.

"Okay, what is this?" Daphne asked when they'd gotten settled. She couldn't stop herself from extending a finger to rub a weathered hawser that was strung, garland-like, on the wall.

"It's a pub," said Harry. "The other door goes into a famous and historical Penzance pub where anyone is welcome. Everyone who comes to Penzance has to go at least once. This is the magical annex, which I found by accident. It's on the magical tourist circuit, like the other side is for muggles. Of course, there are a lot fewer witches and wizards than there are mundane tourists."

"Arrrggghhh…"

Daphne looked up at the ghost that stood by their table. He was dressed in a nautical uniform at least two hundred years out of date. The ghost wore an eyepatch and had a long telescope tucked under one arm. The ghost stood with his back to a hanging lamp and his good eye was lined up on the globe, which imparted a very disturbing backlit glow to the eye.

"Sir and Madam," the ghost began, "I'm Nelson, no, NOT that one, thank-you for not asking, and I'll be your server tonight. We have fish and pasties. Butterbeer. Some muggle brews. Firewhisky. What else? Oh, I don't know…"

The ghost paused, looked up, and appeared to be trying to remember what else the kitchen had on the menu that evening.

"The fish is?" Daphne asked.

"Cod, of course," said Nelson.

"And the pasties?"

"Traditional, with the flank steak and without, and a truly vegetarian with peas, carrots, potatoes…Oh, I get confused, anything that turns up that isn't meat," said Nelson. "Can't expect food to be a ghost's area of expertise."

"Go ahead," Daphne said to Harry.

"One traditional, with the flank steak, and a glass of water, any kind of water," said Harry.

"Same," said Daphne. She shrugged as she looked at Harry. "You've been here before, so you wouldn't be eating anything that made you sick the first time."

Nelson turned and floated back to the bar, presumably to put in their order, shaking his head at Daphne's impertinence.

"I like this," Daphne said.

"Glad to hear it," said Harry.

"Thanks for bringing me. I should treat," Daphne went on.

"My guess is you'll have an opportunity," Harry said, "But I'll be getting this one."

"I forgot to ask your rates," said Daphne.

"I don't have a business, well, not like that," said Harry. "I'm not an investigator or a consultant or a lawyer or anything."

"All the same, you should charge something for your time, Harry Potter," Daphne said. "What you did this afternoon was invaluable. I wouldn't have thought of half of the things you brought up."

"Would you be more comfortable if we monetized this? So it's business? I'm aware I didn't contribute to your store of happy memories," Harry said. "We're still acquaintances, before business associates."

"Stop apologizing," said Daphne. "You did give me some happy memories and anyway, I wasn't at my best, either. Our class had been ground up and spit out. Fate. How are you doing now?"

"Better," Harry said. "Lots better. You?"

"Much, much better. Do you want this to be business?" Daphne asked. She looked into Harry's eyes. He couldn't look away.

"We can hold that over for a decision to be made at a later date," Harry managed.

"Works for me," said Daphne as their food arrived.

Nelson put everything on the table, his hands disappearing into and rising out of the wooden top as he manipulated the plates and silverware.

"I'll be back with the water," he said, floating back to the bar, then floating from the bar to the table with two pint glasses and a large pitcher of water.

"Any idea how he does that?" asked Daphne.

"None," said Harry. "I was in here twice before. He never drops anything, even though those hands have no substance, near as I can tell."

They started on their pasties, taking tiny bites because the pies were so hot.

"I don't want us to part with the kind of words we had last time," Harry said, out of the blue.

Daphne stopped eating and sat up straight. She expected Harry to reach over, perhaps squeeze her forearm or cover her hand with his. Instead, he stayed on his side of the table.

"Harry," she began, but Harry interrupted her.

"No, Daphne, take all the responsibility you want, but I was wrong, wrong, wrong to act the way I did. To this day I don't know what got into me. It was all just so confusing. High hopes, I don't mind saying, paired with abominable actions. I promise to be very careful and not do that kind of hurtful stuff again, so help me Merlin."

"Enjoy your pasty, Harry," Daphne said. "If you want to talk about your days as an ornery young man who briefly saw an ornery young woman before they came to an ornery end, we'll make a date. Just leave it alone for now, though, okay? You're tarnishing my Penzance experience."

"Oh, don't want to do that," said Harry. "Let's see-how about, do you come to Penzance often?"

"One day trip, it's been a few years," said Daphne. "I remember I came with an older girl who'd passed her apparition exam, so I guess I'd have been sixteen. In my memory it was gorgeous. Don't know why I haven't been back. That needs rectifying."

"I think this is my fourth," Harry said. "I need to come more often, too. It's just so lovely. Quiet, peaceful."

"There, wasn't that nice?" Daphne said. She raised her napkin and dabbed her lips before taking a long pull on her water, then taking a few moments to swallow. "That other stuff was all in the past. I acknowledge your good intentions, but let's leave it there."

"Oh," said Harry. "Is this a fresh start?"

"It is if you'll meet me half-way," said Daphne.

"Not some Slytherin trick?" asked Harry.

"Be serious, Harry," Daphne said.

"Okay, cards on the table," said Harry. "I remember you, under the Sorting Hat, like it was yesterday. I couldn't make friends with you, for so many reasons. Slytherin-Gryffindor. Draco Malfoy. Riddle. I assumed you considered me half human, half lower animal, because of my mum."

"If you don't mind me making one little observation, Harry, you brought at least two-thirds of that baggage of your own accord, if you think about it," said Daphne.

Harry put his pasty down and chewed. Then he took a drink of water and put the glass down.

"You're right, I can see that now, although that is a post-therapy phenomenon. Life will get very complicated if we try to do two things at once," Harry said. He picked up his last bite of pasty, the little folded-over bit of crusty dough from the end, and tossed it in his mouth.

"I'm sure you know more about business than I do," said Daphne. "I can wait a little longer."

"On my account?" Harry asked, a little bit incredulous.

"Get a halter on that ego, young man," Daphne answered. "No. I'm picky. I've never thought sexual adventure was worth the time if I can see clearly, in advance, some random hunk is tedious with his clothes on. I've always been that way. Who wants the hassle of getting rid of the excess if ninety-nine percent of the meat is of no interest? That may be a minority opinion among my young, unmarried sister witches."

"Oh," said Harry. He took his time unraveling Daphne's question. He thought she was conveying something positive since they'd just been agreeing to exploring a little deeper if they concluded their business successfully. Harry decided he'd been accorded a compliment by the Healer Daphne Greengrass.

Talk moved on to other topics. It took some time to get through the most recent engagements, marriages and births among their contemporaries. Harry resolved to avoid talking about Romilda and Morag, if Daphne should bring them up. He felt like the information he and Pansy had discovered was tantamount to privileged, the same way Daphne's patients would be off-limits as conversational fodder.

"Well, then," Harry said, standing up and reaching in his pocket for some money. "If you like this place enough, I'll see if I can arrange an account."

Harry waved at Nelson, who pointed at the bar.

"Makes sense, probably can't handle coins," Harry muttered. Daphne shrugged into her cloak and took Harry's arm, an unexpected and pleasant development. Harry smiled, Daphne smiled back, and they turned for the door.


	9. Chapter 9

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Nine

A Most Annoying Fellow

Neville Longbottom took the early morning shift at the Leaky Cauldron the next day, letting Hannah sleep in. She arrived just before eleven, to allow Neville time for a break before the lunch rush.

"Going to see Harry," Neville said, folding his apron and stuffing it in a cubbyhole behind the bar. "Back by a quarter after."

"News?" Neville asked when he'd taken a chair across the desk from Harry.

"Possibly late this afternoon, more likely tomorrow," said Harry. "You're in need of some action, aren't you?"

"This couldn't have come at a better time," Neville said. "Hannah has really built up the business over there but the space and kitchen capacity are maxed. What I add can be done by an elf or two, with Hannah behind the bar to preside over it all. I've been looking for a direction to expand a little, so, yes, I'm ready for some new action."

"Great!" said Harry. "There is a lot of opportunity right now in magical real estate. Not just around the Alley, either. I've been looking for a purely commercial property, just for something different. I've been thinking minimum three months for repairs and renovations on this next place, then if all goes well and it's at full occupancy, maybe spread out a little bit, look for something near an anchor. St. Mungo's for healers' offices, the Ministry for the lawyers, that sort of thing."

"Those ought to have a high probability for success," said Neville. "Good thinking."

"Oh, well, it seems so obvious, I don't think I can take credit," Harry said. "Although I have learned it's not obvious to everyone."

"You can say that again," said Neville. "Maybe it's a gift. Can't be taught."

"I was wondering," Harry said, changing direction without warning, "If you remember Daphne Greengrass?"

"My cousin Daphne Greengrass, the healer? Sure, I remember her. You danced with her at our wedding reception. You both looked like you'd rather be outside in the grass on hand and knees, gagging."

"Okay, that was then, alright?" Harry said. "We…had difficulties. Communicating. A couple of years before. It hadn't been long enough at the time."

"Uh-huh," said Neville. "Jumping ahead, this wouldn't have anything to do with Cyrus and some cash flow problems and intra-familial issues deriving therefrom, by any chance?"

"Oddly enough," Harry said. "How do you know? I had _muffliato_ in place the whole time we were talking."

"I don't know, Harry, in all honesty I don't know," said Neville. "You can see a wreck of a building and know whether it's worth buying and renovating and adding to your portfolio. I often see where your conversations are going to end up, long before you get to your conclusion. It works for my whole family, don't ask me how. Daphne and Astoria are cousins, not close, but still. Cyrus Greengrass doesn't have any financial sense. When he had a little job with someone he managed to keep his head above water and the family respectable. Cordelia maintains herself chemically. Daphne is smart and industrious. She doesn't need a lot, prefers to live modestly and think about the long view. Astoria's smart in her own way but she needs to be an aristo wife and live a magical country life. It's like a destiny thing. Taking all of that into account, it makes sense Daphne is in need of a little consulting work from an experienced business hand."

"Oh, well," said Harry. "Neville, if we're going to be partners, we'll need to be able to speak frankly. Embargo the information, please, at least temporarily. Not to conceal anything from Madam Hannah, of course, just keeping, not secrets, as such…"

Harry Potter didn't formulate his sentences before he started talking. Neville got where he was going, though.

"It's best if I don't share the conversation with Hannah?"

"For now," said Harry.

"You're working with Daphne on the Greengrass finances?"

"Discreetly, of course," Harry said. "Consultations. Nothing more, I assure you."

"Be careful, Harry," said Neville. "Cyrus is very vulnerable. I am pretty sure if he had to raise cash to liquidate some of his loans he'd be out of money long before he was out of loans. In other words, he is effectively bankrupt. You don't want to get dragged under with him."

"Oh, I don't want to bail him out or take over his debts or co-sign for loans or anything like that," said Harry. "I would be curious about assets he might have that are undervalued or overlooked, that sort of thing. I'd start there, if asked. From what I've heard, he doesn't have a clue about business. Valuation, profit and loss, those kinds of things. Daphne and I were on cordial terms at one time. We had a bite to eat together recently. That was cordial, too. If the family could use a consultant's help, in a way that didn't threaten Cyrus, you know, psychologically, Daphne might be able to take the lead…"

"Ahhh…" said Neville, smiling, "Excellent, Harry. That's really excellent. What do you need from me?"

"Perhaps a bit of information on the Greengrass family, some evening, maybe over a little mead? Just background. No need to upset Daphne by informing her we're talking about her behind her back."

"We close the kitchen at ten in the morning on Sunday, and don't open the bar at all," said Neville. "It's effectively our one day off. How about Sunday afternoon, four o'clock? Longbottom Manor?"

"Great, see you then," Harry said.

"Got to run, lunch rush," said Neville. He made a little waving gesture. "Madam Longbottom…"

"Understood," said Harry, getting out from behind the desk to take Neville to the street door.

Harry added Sunday afternoon to his planner and leaned back in his chair. That Neville always had the best insider scoops, Harry thought. He wondered if he could cultivate whatever the thing was that resulted in getting such high quality information in himself? Still, Neville seemed to be a natural. Maybe it was better to let Neville handle that and Harry would look for the business opportunities.

The owl arrived late in the afternoon. Pansy had been out being Pansy all day so Harry was alone.

"Mr. Potter," the note read.

"I am pleased to inform you the loan committee approved your application. I will have the documentation ready for signing tomorrow morning at ten."

It was signed by Harry's usual goblin loan officer.

Harry decided to close up and go see his prospective new building. He didn't have the keys and couldn't go in and start making plans until he had closed on the property, but he could look around outside and refresh his memory of the place.

He found he really didn't need to. The building was very much as he'd remembered it, a ground floor suitable for one or two offices topped by three flats. There was a step-down entrance in front. Harry walked around back via an alley and looked for an exit, which he found. It was old and didn't look very secure. He and the elves would definitely want to look into upgrades to the door, locks and grills if they were going to put the basement in condition to host a business of some kind.

Harry came away from his visit to the building in a very good mood. He was hungry and walked while he thought about his options for something to eat for lunch. Distance doesn't mean a lot when a wizard can disapparate and reappear almost anyplace he's ever been, if his magic is strong enough. Harry thought about the pasty he'd had in Penzance the night before and decided he'd like to go back for the fish and chips.

He'd taken enough time with his visit to the new building to outwait the lunch rush, so Harry saw only a sprinkling of occupied booths and tables in the pub. He entered and gestured toward the gents' when Nelson approached.

"Be right back," he told the ghost, as he walked past Daphne Greengrass and a solidly-build wizard wearing a blue blazer, seated in a booth about halfway through the pub.

When he finished, Harry asked for a seat in the back part of the room, an order of fish and chips and a butterbeer. He oriented himself so he wouldn't see Daphne and her friend when they got up to leave.

Harry had a hard time enjoying his lunch, even though the fish was fresh, battered and fried up to perfection. No matter how many times he told himself that he and Daphne had some mutual business, and they'd agreed there was nothing more at present, he could feel himself reverting to jackass mode. Harry used some effective anger management techniques to stay in his seat, eat fish and drink butterbeer, like any ordinary magical citizen day-tripping to Penzance. He didn't enjoy the fish and he didn't enjoy keeping the emotion tamped down. This led to more, very unsatisfactory, internal arguments with himself over the exact nature of his dealings with Daphne Greengrass.

Harry finished his lunch and was thinking about another butterbeer when he thought of Neville's description of himself and Daphne looking like they'd have rather been somewhere gagging than dancing with each other. That made him laugh, because it was true. They hadn't put enough distance between themselves and their earlier fiascoes to truly feel like dancing together. Now Harry thought about Neville's comment and decided he once again would have preferred to be outside gagging than staying in the pub. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a good supply of sickels and walked up to the bar, relieved to see Daphne and the mystery gentleman gone from their booth.

"Fish and chips and a butterbeer," Harry said, dropping enough sickels for the food and a generous tip for Nelson and the bartender.

Harry took a stroll along Penzance' waterfront, breathing the sea air and enjoying the sight of the boats bobbing at their moorings. The further he walked, the better he felt. The better he felt, the more confident he was that he was starting to put the pieces together in the puzzle of how to help Daphne extract Astoria from Cyrus' financial sinkhole.

Harry's only piece of afternoon business was to confirm his appointment at Gringotts the following morning. Once that was done he sat looking at a piece of parchment, occasionally dipping a quill in his inkwell and writing some cryptic note. When he got enough notes he'd draw little boxes around them. Some of the boxes had numbers. Harry was thinking through steps. The sequence would be important.

Harry walked through the office, looking for anything that needed tidying or putting away before he left for the night. It was late so he planned to apparate home. He was already anticipating falling into bed when he heard the bell that sounded when the street door was opened. Harry drew his wand and stepped into the foyer.

"Potter! It's me! Daphne!"

"I can see that," Harry said, slipping his wand back into his sleeve. "What in Morgana's name were you thinking, strolling in here this time of night?"

"It's not quite eight, and what in Merlin's name are you doing inside here with your door unlocked if you're worried about security?" Daphne asked.

"I concede your point," said Harry. "I got involved in some work. Business, that's all. This is where I do that, so what's your motivation?"

"I had to come see you," said Daphne.

Harry stood still, staring into Daphne's eyes.

"Why?" he asked, when he'd stopped staring.

"You saw me out having lunch with someone today and I wanted to clear the air," Daphne said.

"What's to clear?" Harry asked. "I admit it was a surprise to see you there with the rather good-looking chap. I'll go further and admit I was unhappy about it. However, I drew on some things I've learned since…our difficulties and remembered we agreed we'd work on the business we've taken on and leave everything else until later. My mind is at rest."

"Oh," said Daphne. "That's very mature thinking, Harry. I didn't expect—"

"I know," said Harry.

"Oh—that's all wrong. I knew it when the words started to come out but it was already too late."

Daphne's distress at her faux pas was genuine, but comical.

"Don't worry about it, you're just being honest," Harry said, smiling. "Can I ask, without prying, if you were there for business?"

"No, but that's okay, and yes," Daphne answered. "Although, I think the man in the blazer and gelled hair believed we were on a date. A first date. Getting to know you. Dutch treat."

"He didn't!" exclaimed Harry.

"His name is Laurent Selwyn and he is the prospective husband of my sister, should Father conclude his sleazy deal to raise funds and get out from under his debts. Laurent, gentleman that he is, offered himself up to me as my fancy man. He came right out and said he finds me much more desirable, and he realizes I have a career and I wouldn't be interested in handling his social calendar and entertaining, so perhaps I'd agree to leave that to Astoria while he and I have an understanding. I asked about his plans for an understanding with Astoria and he did not see the relevance. Can I ask, without prying, if I look to you like I require a fancy man?"

Harry was literally dumbstruck. He wasn't naïve. He knew people had all kinds of exotic private lives. Many wizards considered outside relationships part of the standard kit of magical male privileges. Still, Harry couldn't remember hearing of such a blatantly disrespectful approach to a witch, much less getting it from an original source.

"So you rebuffed the offer?"

"I thought so," answered Daphne, "But after going back over our conversation I now believe he believes we've concluded a promising opening meeting in an ongoing negotiation."

Harry had never heard anything so funny as Daphne's answer to his question. She couldn't believe it herself, it was plain.

"You'd better come in," Harry said, laughing as he led the way into his private office. "Please have a seat."

Harry ran through the news about his new building. He expected to close that week and wanted to get started on renovations as soon as he had the keys. Recent experience indicated the flats would be occupied as long as they were habitable. The rents would make the building just barely profitable, then he'd see about the ground floor before moving on to the basement. Cleaned and brought up to code, the basement could at least be rented for storage.

"I'm impressed," said Daphne.

"Can I ask you a question?" asked Harry. Daphne shrugged.

"How much did Cyrus borrow when he put up the manor for collateral?"

"I believe it was half a million," said Daphne. "That's from Mother and she'd had a few, so adjust accordingly."

"Half a million galleons?" asked Harry, all but gasping. He was multiplying, checking his math, multiplying again.

"Sure, what else?" Daphne said. "Ducats? Pieces of Eight?"

"Okay, you got me there," said Harry. "What does the land bring in? What do you do with it? Farm? Shoot partridge?"

"It's rented, market rates," said Daphne. "Most of the families stuck with these places support the house, barely. Manors are follies, fundamentally. If the wizard can maintain the house and the elves and the gardens then the family has a lovely country place to raise the children, entertain and hold a wedding now and then. You've got one, don't you? What is the net?"

"Technically, yes," said Harry. "The goblins manage it. Their fee is based on the valuation and ends up costing me around eighty percent of the profit in an average year. It's only recently I've had enough income to start thinking about putting some into the country place. Anyway, we have to focus on the Greengrass issue, for now. Half a million. Hmm. Anything else? I'm working tomorrow, soo…"

Harry stood up from his chair, signaling the end of the meeting. Daphne didn't pop right up. Instead she sat, looking up at Harry, before giving him a brief smile and standing.

"Nothing more tonight," she said, crossing the office and foyer.

"G'night," he heard as the street door closed.

Harry finished up at the office, went home and managed to stay awake for one cup of tea. He was in bed waiting for sleep when he realized Daphne's actions and final comment might have had embedded in them an answer to a question he hadn't asked. Still, they'd already agreed to business first, the personal later.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Acknowledgment:**__ The author wishes to acknowledge Ms. J.K. Rowling as the creator of all things Harry Potter. This story is fan fiction written solely for the reading enjoyment of the fans of Harry Potter and of Ms. Rowling's original works._

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Ten

A Negative First Impression

Harry popped out of bed the following morning, already thinking through his first few hours of work. By noon he would have his loan secured and be ready for closing on the new building, as soon as the seller and their representative were available. It might be possible to have it all wrapped by the weekend. Whoo!

Then Harry and Neville would have to get busy on the details of their partnership arrangement and transfer half to Neville. Harry had a genuine strategic interest in laying off some of the risk alongside deepening his alliance with Neville and the Longbottoms. Each of them had vulnerabilities of one kind or another and they'd be stronger facing the challenges of Magical Britain together than they would as lone wolves.

Harry was also anxious to get Neville cornered for a session of deep analysis of the Greengrass situation. He had the outline of a plan to extract Daphne and Astoria from their difficulties but the details were being dismayingly difficult to pin down. Harry thought Neville's familial ties and better understanding of magical life and culture would be critical to Harry's understanding.

"Kreacher?" Harry called out as he descended the stairs at #12 Grimmauld Place.

"Master? Are you ready for breakfast? Eggs any style, pancakes, porridge, fresh fruit, toast, fruit juice…"

Kreacher was always prepared for anything. Harry thought it was a shame he was so underutilized, working for just one occupant, but the obvious counter-argument always lay there in readiness—Kreacher's years with only the portrait of Walburga Black for company. Walburga didn't eat anything.

"Oh, thank-you, Kreacher, that's more than I could eat if I took all day. I think I'll stick with a bowl of porridge with a little skim milk, one slice of toast, a large orange juice and coffee this morning."

Kreacher took it well.

"Of course, Master," he said. "In the dining room?"

Harry often ate his breakfast at the long table in the kitchen, Daily Prophet propped up on the coffee carafe, ten minutes, start to finish. Then he thanked Kreacher for the delicious breakfast and headed for the door to see what the day would bring. Kreacher sometimes expressed mild disappointment in Harry. Kreacher's late mistress, Walburga Black, relished the life of an upper class magical Londoner, going out in daylight only to her little jewel of a garden at the rear of the townhouse, or an occasional garden party at one of her peers' homes. She took breakfast in bed and could linger over a bowl of fruit with yogurt and a slice of raisin bread toast for an hour or more, studying the Prophet for anything salacious and delivering pronouncements on whatever subject caught her attention.

Harry was interested in #12 Grimmauld Place only because it had been his godfather's home. He felt Sirius Black's presence in every room. If not for that he would move to a flat in one of his buildings. Then Kreacher would have literally nothing to do. Harry liked keeping the place in the best possible condition, as a tribute to Sirius. He hadn't been able to adopt the ways of the old upper-class gentleman wizards, working from home and summoning a house elf for everything from a sharpened quill to a glass of water spiked with a few drops of Pepper-up Potion. Harry did what he could to make it up to Kreacher, including letting Kreacher handle his beverage needs, apparating back and forth between #12 and Potter and Associates with carafes and trays of nibbles.

The goblins were accurate, as they almost always were. Harry entered Gringotts' front door a few minutes before ten and was ushered in to meet his loan officer on the hour. They went over the documents together. Harry asked about his plan to bring in a partner, making sure there were no prohibitions embedded that he hadn't noticed. This got him a mild display of approval from his goblin counterpart.

"Spreading risk and responsibility, Mr. Potter? Very good idea. Someone who shares your outlook on business?"

"Exactly," Harry said. "Our skills and interests are complementary, I believe, and our general approach is the same. Spot an opportunity, minimize risk, no getting rich quick, think in years and not months."

The loan officer studied Harry for several seconds.

"Was there anything else?" he asked.

Harry knew he'd been spotted, caught, dead to rights. He wondered what had given him away. At the same time he realized it would do no good to ask. That would be tantamount to requesting a briefing on all the goblins' trade secrets.

"Actually, since you ask," Harry began, moving on to a very general outline of a problem that a magical acquaintance had brought to his attention, his thoughts on extracting the acquaintance from the immediate threat to the individual, and, by extension, the family, and a proposal he thought merited consideration by Gringotts. Of course, if the goblins, who were much better business persons than he was, found a flaw in his thinking, he'd welcome their critique.

Harry was asked if he had anything pressing. He said he didn't and was shown to a small lounge and asked to wait. He waited. Then he waited a little longer. It was nearly an hour since he'd ended his conversation with the loan officer when a uniformed messenger approached him as he sat on the lumpy sofa in the lounge.

"Could you come with me, please, Mr. Potter?"

Harry stood. Coming up off the lumps, he had to let his buttocks and thighs adjust back to their natural forms before following the messenger out of the lounge and down a corridor. The occupants of the offices on both sides were clearly important. The paneling and carved doors became more lustrous as they walked. The messenger stopped before a door bearing a plaque that read, simply, "Director."

The messenger didn't knock or do anything that Harry recognized as announcing their presence. Rather they stood, then they stood some more. At some point a voice from the office said, "Come in." It didn't strike Harry as an invitation.

"Mr. Potter, please."

A goblin in a tailored Beau Brummel suit stood up from a substantial, high-backed chair behind a substantial wooden executive desk and made a waving motion to a guest chair. Harry saw his loan officer had been occupying the other guest chair.

"Coffee, tea, water, fruit juice, or a little taste of some goblin-made brandy?" asked the director. "My name is Ragnak, I don't think we've met, something I've been meaning to remedy, of course. Business."

Ragnak made a little backhand gesture in explanation.

Harry noticed the messenger stood waiting at the door. He made a show of checking his watch.

"Will we have something to memorialize with the brandy? And will your distinguished selves be free to join me?" Harry asked. "It is just barely late enough in the day."

Ragnak and the loan officer tried to suppress grins but weren't very successful.

"Three brandies," said Ragnak to the messenger, in English. "The small glasses. Anything else?"

"A little water to go with it," answered Harry. Ragnak nodded his approval.

"And three waters," he said.

"Now, Mr. Potter, to business," Ragnak said, sitting down. "Anvil has brought me a proposition. I find it very interesting. The bank, therefore, finds it interesting as well."

Ragnak asked a few questions, which Harry answered. Ragnak went over Harry's loans, acquisitions and repayment record in detail, literally line item by line item. Harry was sure Ragnak knew Harry's answers before Harry gave them. Due diligence complete, Ragnak leaned forward.

"There are aspects of Lord Greengrass' business affairs that have caused the bank concern," Ragnak began. "The bank would like to resolve the matter of the loan. The bank's exposure is not that great, although in the event of a collapse of his lordship's finances it would be impossible to make the bank whole. Not catastrophic for us, but certainly for the Greengrass family, and a loss is a loss. You are seeking to take on the Greengrass obligation. That's what your proposal amounts to."

At no time that morning had Harry spoken the name Greengrass. Those goblins.

"Exactly," Harry said. "I'm prepared to offer my investment properties as collateral. The most recent sales, what I paid, do not reflect the current value. They were derelict and deteriorating, now they are in perfect condition and paying their way, which they show every sign of doing for years and years to come."

"Anvil has put together quite a file on your holdings, Mr. Potter," Ragnak said. "I must admit I was not fully aware until this morning. Of course I knew you were working hard. Word does get around, you understand."

Ragnak looked down at the file folder before turning a few sheets over for a bit more study. He turned to Anvil and exchanged a few sentences in the goblin language. Anvil smiled, rose and nodded to Harry, then turned for the door.

"Mr. Potter," Ragnak said when they were alone. "This amounts to a coup targeting the head of a noble house."

"And a rescue mission for a noble family," Harry added.

"Point," said Ragnak. "Goblins, for all our aphorisms, 'Time is gold,' and such, are not one-dimensional. We experience empathy. We have compassion for others. We do believe time is gold, Merlin help us, but we get great satisfaction from turning our talents and energy to helping others. I am proud of our relationship with you, Mr. Potter. You have been using Gringotts' capital to improve our neighborhoods and provide decent housing for magical folk who need it, and you repay with interest. Is it your honest intent to help out a family in distress? Or is this another acquisition?"

Harry held Ragnak's gaze. He felt the goblin's intensity, his intent to plumb Harry's soul, if he could.

"Lord Greengrass, who undoubtedly has his good points, is in a pickle. He does not seem to be able to perceive a way out save an exchange of funds as part of a marriage contract. The old ways, of course. I believe this is a means to get the family's business into competent hands while saving everyone, not least Lord Greengrass, from the public humiliation that would attach to becoming bankrupt, which would surely happen as soon as he'd run through the ready cash he'd get for what amounts to the sale of his youngest daughter," said Harry. "In addition, if it is not too crass, may I observe I will be taking on the risk of the loan, thus relieving Gringotts of what must be a worrisome problem?"

A hidden door opened in the paneled wall behind Ragnak's desk and the messenger returned with a tray of drinks. At almost the same time Harry heard two knocks on the main door, which opened for Anvil's return.

"Anvil, take one of these," said Ragnak. "Mr. Potter has given us an occasion that must be recognized formally."

That Sunday afternoon, Harry outlined the Potter and Associates business news for Neville. They were sitting in the garden at Longbottom Manor. Hannah was on the verandah with Augusta, catching up on all the gossip she'd missed because she was busy at the pub, as well as passing on all the gossip she'd gotten at work that Augusta had missed because she didn't go to the Leaky Cauldron unless she was forced to pass through for some reason.

"You what?" exclaimed Neville.

"I bought the loan. I have the lien on Greengrass Manor," Harry said. "Don't worry, you're not part of that. I'm on my own on this one."

"What did you pay, if I may ask?" Neville demanded.

"That's really…" Harry meant to say none of his business, but it was Neville so he changed his mind.

"Oh, what the heck," he said. "Three hundred eighty-nine thousand."

"You threw it away," Neville huffed. "Cyrus is going to pay it back a hundred a month in perpetuity? There is no way the farmland makes the kind of money it would have to for you to pay it off."

"Maybe I don't want to pay it off," said Harry. "I can pay Gringotts, barring a meteorite hitting the Earth and wiping out us wizards. That's the important part of all this. The Greengrass family is out from under the threat of immediate catastrophe. Now we can engage on the other issues one at a time."

"We?" asked Neville, although he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

"Daphne's pretty solid," said Harry. "She's got her feet on the ground. I don't get the impression her healing practice takes up all of her time, or all of her gray matter, either."

"Where does Daphne come in?"

"I can't tell you everything, can I?" Harry asked. "After all, we are raking through an affiliated family's personal finances, which is just short of re-enacting the raid on the Sabine women."

Neville loved an apt classical reference and broke out in a laugh.

"But…" Neville said.

"But, I think Daphne might like a project. Something for her spare time," said Harry. "I think she's got it in her. Why not give her a chance?"

Neville looked doubtful but he kept his own counsel, and they moved along to getting the partnership organized and registered so they could do business as an entity. Harry became the one asking probing questions, this time on the views of Hannah Abbott Longbottom. The last thing Harry wanted was the wrath of the mistress of the Leaky Cauldron coming down upon him. Besides, she was a fellow Diagon Alley business person, and he wanted to be on good terms with all of those.

Hannah was ambivalent at first, Neville told Harry, but after she'd slept on it a time or two, she became mildly supportive. Neville thought there were a small number of threads that made up Hannah's view. She knew the business in the pub side of the Leaky Cauldron was at maximum capacity. They literally had no room for more seating, so the ability to grow was stymied by the available space. She wanted to do more with the rooms upstairs, while being careful with the people. Several of them were near-destitute and literally had nowhere to go. Hannah saw it as a witchly duty to take responsibility for some of the magical widows and castoffs from her community who were old, debilitated or otherwise incapable of fending for themselves.

Hannah had great respect for Neville and Harry's shared history, resilience and their hard work in the post-war magical economy. She knew they had a greater tolerance for risk than she did, and that tolerance for risk was a valuable personality trait. Neville needed a larger canvas. Hannah decided to be grateful he had Harry Potter to work with as he developed his fully-adult place in the society and economy of post-war Magical Britain.

Harry proposed, and Neville accepted, a partnership plan based on a corporation registered in Douglas, Isle of Man. The corporation would be capitalized, initially, by Harry and Neville. Once they had permission to engage in trade, the corporation would buy Harry's new investment property and the mortgage for one peppercorn and other valuable consideration, taking over the collection of rents and payment of the mortgage. From then on the building ought to be self-financing. Harry thought there might be a need for some minimal administrative assistance and planned to pitch Neville on hiring Pansy, should the need actually emerge.

"Keep an eye open for someone who might want to occupy the ground floor," Harry noted. "I think that will be prime office space. A shop would work, too."

"Any thoughts on timing?" Neville asked.

"The goblins are working on setting up the closing," said Harry. "I'm hoping for Monday, Tuesday at the latest."

"Good," said Neville, slapping his hands on the tops of his thighs.

Harry was back at Grimmauld Place before he realized he had absolutely nothing left to do and it was several hours before he'd be able to sleep. He thought he'd like to take Daphne out, for coffee, or a coffee and a biscotti, along with some civilized conversation, but they hadn't exchanged floo addresses and he was sure she had moved since their few days of misadventure years before.

"Should've stayed at Madam Augusta's," Harry thought. "She has a hammock."

Monday morning arrived and Harry woke up rested and rejuvenated. He was very close to becoming the owner of another building which would lead to establishing a partnership with Neville Longbottom. That would give the two of them the opportunity to pool capital to fund larger enterprises than either could alone, as well as the ability to expand into wider fields. Harry had been building a portfolio of magical rental properties, which he assumed he could do more or less forever, but he would always be the owner of rental properties, whether he had one or one hundred. Number one hundred would not be likely to have anything at all interesting about it that he hadn't already seen ninety-eight or ninety-nine times.

Harry got to his office before eight, opened up and did a walk-through, just in case, and spread on his desk the files he'd brought with him. His priorities for the day were to close on his building, if the goblins had been successful in setting up the meeting, then take Kreacher, Mort and Daisy by to discuss maintenance and renovation. He needed to talk to Daphne, and scolded himself again for not getting current contact information. Harry hoped Pansy would have some ideas.

Time was critical, if they were to keep Cyrus from doing something stupid that ended with Astoria betrothed to a man who had already offered her sister an arrangement. Merlin! Harry wasn't sure exactly how they'd do it, but they had to get control of the Greengrass finances so they could see what was there to work with, put the elders on an allowance, use whatever they had left over to start paying down debt, and get Astoria betrothed to Draco Malfoy, if that was really what they both wanted. That would be the only way to be certain of ending Cyrus Greengrass' thoughtless trampling through the lives of his nearest and dearest.

The street door opened triggering the bell spell.

"Harry!" someone shouted from the foyer.

"Pansy!" Harry shouted back.

"Look at this!" Pansy said as she literally bounced into Harry's office. She was waving a small piece of note parchment which she tossed across the desk when she got close enough.

"Morag," she explained.

"Succinct," said Harry, nodding in approval. "Anything else?"

Pansy picked up the note.

"I know that you know how to read," she announced.

Harry nodded.

"Potter!" she said. "Read it! It concerns you!"

"Oh, well, then, why didn't you say so?" Harry asked. He held out his hand, thumb and fingers slightly spread, and drew the parchment to him, making it do a couple of barrel rolls on the way. Bowing to convention, Harry held the corner of the note parchment between his thumb and forefinger and began to read aloud:

"_Pansy,_

"_I want you and Harry to know that Mother has been talking about your visit constantly, whenever she is awake. She isn't improving, physically, but her spirits haven't been higher since she suffered her stroke. I've had to promise a return visit, so far 'soon' has been sufficient, but I don't know how long that will continue._

_If you find yourselves with another excess baguette, please bring it along. I will make us a cauldron of soup to go with it!_

_Regards,_

_Morag"_

"Well, that seems to say you did a good deed last week, Pansy," Harry said. "How does that make you feel?"

"Wonderful, of course," Pansy said. "When should we go back?"

"Why, as soon as possible," said Harry. "Let's reconcile calendars today and look for a date."

They both looked toward the foyer at the sound of the bell spell.

"Mr. Potter?" someone said.

"Come in," Harry said. He motioned to his left with his eyes and Pansy sidestepped once, twice. She noticed Harry's thumb and first two fingers disappear into his sleeve.

"You are Harry Potter?" asked the man.

He was well-built, close to six feet tall, with a blond crew cut that stood straight up from his scalp, and blue eyes. He wore a tweed jacket, white shirt, and black trousers. His shoes were the only odd part about his streetwear—a pair of leather boots with heavy lug soles. Harry recognized them as Italian, the kind hiking enthusiasts, muggles and magicals alike, wore to trek around the mountain ranges of Europe. There weren't a lot of mountains in magical London, so far as Harry knew.

"Sir," said Harry, nodding once, not taking his eyes from the man's center of mass. "Yourself?"

"Dieter Berg," said the man, bringing his heels together and dropping his head.

"Would you like to come in, Mr. Berg? Can we get you coffee, tea, water? Juice?" Harry asked.

Dieter Berg stood still, just the other side of the threshold. He seemed to be debating coming inside. Before he moved he let his eyes go up one side of the doorframe, across the top and down the other side. Finally, he moved, walking across the office. Harry stood up, still seeming to fiddle with his left shirt cuff with his right hand, until Berg extended his. Harry took it.

"Delighted, please sit down," Harry said.

"What's your pleasure?" Harry asked.

"Just water, if you please," said Berg.

Harry summoned Kreacher, asked for a coffee for himself and water for his guest. Pansy shook her head 'No.' Harry made a little motion, just moving his fingertips, and Pansy glided out the door.

"What brings you to London, Mr. Berg?" Harry asked. "I'm sorry, I know just enough Italian to pick up a little accent, and your English is excellent."

"My mother would be very happy to hear you say so," Berg said with a smile. "She insisted we work at our languages. I grew up bilingual, Romansh and Italian. Our world is so tiny, we have to be able to communicate with neighbors. I managed German, French and English. Not bad for one of the slower members of the family."

"I'm sure that's not true at all, Mr. Berg," Harry said. Kreacher arrived with the water and the coffee. Those sorted, Harry continued.

"Italian and Romansh—do you differentiate between them as to a first language?"

"Yes, we're in a tiny, isolated pocket of Romansh. A few miles one direction, you'll need standard Italian. A few the other, you'll need German. We descended from Roman colonists who arrived sometime in the last century before the calendar was changed, according to the scholars. Demobilized legionaries, wives, children, et cetera," said Berg. "Perhaps an augur or two? A soothsayer, here and there?"

"Fascinating," said Harry. "Romansh, so you're Swiss? Austrian? Italian?"

"I carry a Swiss passport," said Berg. "Have you visited our part of the world?"

"Just once," Harry said. "A very short pleasure trip. Getaway, you know? I've always wanted to go back and stay longer. So, what can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for someone," said Berg. "You might know them. A distant relative of mine, English, educated. Her name is Romilda Berg, although before her marriage she was known as Romilda Vane. I need to contact her. It's a family matter. I hope you don't mind, but I'm not at liberty to divulge more."

Harry knew very little about Romilda, other than Pansy's fragmentary report from a few days before. He was quick enough to judge Dieter Berg did not have Romilda's best interests foremost in his mind. Something about the man's attitude, posture, accent, or all together, already irritated Harry. He'd be damned before he'd give Dieter Berg one piece of information that might help him locate Romilda Vane.

"Oh, Mr. Berg, that is a name from my past. I haven't thought of Romilda for quite some time. She was at Hogwarts School, years and years ago. Not in my class. I was, you could say, stressed, during my school days. What memories I have…"

Harry let the sentence drift off. He allowed himself a moment of reverie.

"What do you wish to do, Mr. Berg?"

"Offer her a return to her rightful place in the Berg family," said Berg. Harry did not like the way he said it.

"Admirable," said Harry. "My own family, the war, and all…"

He stood, walked around the desk and extended his hand.

"If you'd like…" Harry took a business card from a holder on his desk blotter.

"Harry Potter," it said.

"The Lane (nr. Diagon Alley)"

"London"

"If you wish to send something by owl, just," Harry said, making a little, waving gesture toward his address.

Dieter Berg accepted the card, nodding once again as he brought his heels together.

"Thank-you for the hospitality, signur Potter."

"Best of luck, sir," said Harry as he led the way to the door.

Harry stood back and watched Dieter Berg until he disapparated some yards down the lane from Potter and Associates' front door. Pansy opened the door to her office and stepped out while Harry was occupied.

"What do you think?" Harry asked.

"Bad business," said Pansy. "You?"

"Oh, I definitely agree with you there," said Harry. "Dieter Berg, Romansh-speaker from a tiny pocket that isn't anything particularly, carries a Swiss passport but perhaps pointedly did NOT say he was Swiss, comes all this way to offer Romilda her rightful place in the family. Besides, he creeped me out. Always go with your feeling if some wizard creeps you out, you can't go wrong."

"I have to start writing these down," said Pansy. "I sense a steady position on the best-seller lists: 'The Wisdom of Harry Potter.' You know, for graduation, bridal shower gifts, that sort of thing."

Harry didn't know whether he should take her seriously or not.

"What do you want to do?" Pansy asked.

"Not call attention to Romilda, first of all," said Harry. "Did you get it all?"

Harry knew Pansy could follow anything happening anywhere in the office as she was very good with some simple eavesdropping charms.

"Definitely," Pansy said. "We don't have anything. A vague reference. I don't know if a skilled _Legilimens_ could do anything with that."

"Oh, I rather think they could," Harry said. "Did you feel our friend Dieter probing? I didn't."

"That would be a very high level of skill, if he could get in and out without detection," said Pansy. "That's not to say it can't be done."

"It definitely can be done, but the number of wizards who can do it is very small," said Harry. "Besides, if Dieter is one of them, why would he tip his hand by stopping to see us? If the trail was a good one and it led to London, all a wizard with that level of competence would need to do, would be to circulate a bit and listen."

"How'd he just happen to come across the office? Know of an association with Romilda, slight as it was?" Harry asked.

"Putting two and two together," Pansy began, "What if the Bergs are fanned out, checking the places they know for sure figure in Romilda's past? Initial stages of their investigation? Standard technique, according to all the police procedurals. 'My partner and I went to the old neighborhood, knocking on doors, asking if anyone had seen the suspect recently.' I've been craving a shot of that mead Madam Rosmerta keeps underneath the bar. I remember it from my wild days. Throw it back and it makes a miscreant feel good about herself. Take it a sip at a time and it can lead to real insight. Of course, one must remember to stop in time if one wants to have the memory of the insight when one wakes up."

Harry looked at Pansy. She looked back. He raised one eyebrow.

"Yes, I'm sure," Pansy said. "Pretty. Sure."

"Playing with fire, Pansy," said Harry.

"One," said Pansy. "Strictly for research purposes. I'll tell Rosmerta you're to be informed immediately if I ask for another. Then you can come and drag me home. It's not as if you've had to do that recently."


	11. Chapter 11

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter 11

Potter Magic

Harry finally consented to Pansy taking off during business hours to drink an alcoholic beverage at the Three Broomsticks, all in the interest of research into Dieter Berg, or any other member of the Berg family who might be using standard investigative techniques, going around, asking questions in places that might have been familiar to an earlier edition of Romilda Vane Berg.

Harry made note of the time. He resolved to give Pansy two hours, then he'd be overcome with a parallel desire for a butterbeer pushed across Rosmerta's bar. It was well-known there was something special about those to every Hogwarts alumnus.

The office was quiet and Harry was hanging around only to be available should Gringotts send an owl or a messenger with details for the closing of the purchase of the new building when the bell spell sounded. The bell was nearly drowned out by the simultaneous shout of, "POTTER!" generated by a female voice. Harry looked up into the enraged face of Daphne Greengrass, but what really concerned him was the tip of Daphne's wand that stopped its progress roughly eighteen inches from Harry's nose.

"DAMMIT POTTER WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Daphne screamed. She literally screamed. Harry hadn't heard Daphne scream before, but he couldn't take the time to note the occasion because it looked like she really wanted to use her wand on him.

"Daphne, I'm quite mad for you and would never do anything to hurt you or disadvantage you in any way. Can you lower your wand? Please?" Harry asked.

Daphne lowered her wand, but she didn't put it away. Instead, she threw a piece of parchment on Harry's desk.

"Read it!" Daphne ordered.

Harry picked up the parchment.

"Have a seat, please," he said. "Kreacher!"

"Kreacher is here, Master," said the elf. "Ah, Healer Daphne, an honor, as always."

Harry wondered if Kreacher sensed Daphne's agitation and was trying to do his part with his deep, nose-nearly-to-the-floor bow.

"A pot of tea, please, Kreacher. The black tea, some lemon slices, sugar cubes," Harry said.

"A you going to read that parchment Potter?" asked Daphne, a little louder than Harry thought necessary.

"Of course, just give me a moment," Harry said. He began reading aloud.

"My dear Lord Greengrass, etc, etc, my pleasure to inform…obligation to advise…debt to Gringotts free and clear…"

"Happy?" Harry asked.

"Harry Potter, you weasel, snake, slippery…"

"You're headed toward mudblood, Daphne," said Harry, a little warning note in his tone.

Daphne jerked back in her chair, eyes suddenly filled with tears.

"What are you doing to us, Harry," she asked. "And I've never called you a mudblood in my life and that really hurt!"

"Okay, can we talk now?" Harry asked. "Because this is serious and we have to talk it through, maybe three or four times. We'll probably have one chance and only one, to get it right. Can we get serious? Or do you want to come back to it later?"

Daphne took a deep breath. She finally used her wand, to do a little freshen-up charm on her face, then one more that Harry didn't really get. Maybe she fixed her minimal makeup?

Kreacher popped into existence with the tray holding the teapot, cups, saucers, lemon and sugar. Daphne used the time Kreacher needed to pour and serve to get control of her breathing.

"Thank-you, Kreacher," Daphne said, accepting the tea.

"Ready?" Harry asked when Kreacher had bowed and gone.

Daphne nodded.

"How did you get this?" Harry asked.

"Thank Merlin, Mother got it from the owl and opened it before Father saw it," Daphne said. "She called me and asked what it meant. I got there before he did, swore her to silence and came looking for you. What in Merlin's name, Harry?"

"Right," Harry began. "I apologize for not consulting with you but I thought it through, several times, and decided I had to do it this way for it to work. From your description, I concluded Cyrus is in a situation of his own making and in danger of dragging all of you down with him. Astoria, Morgana bless her, is just one facet of the risk you all face. The mortgage is a commodity. Gringotts sold it to me like any other asset that could be sold. Cyrus is now relieved of at least one of his debts to Gringotts."

"But you own the lien!" Daphne said, her tea cup rattling on the saucer. "What are you going to do? Put us all out on the street?"

"No, I'm trying to keep that from happening," Harry said. "Done right, this is the first step in unraveling Cyrus' financial mess and putting some order in the Greengrass family's business affairs."

Daphne took a sip from her tea cup, looking at Harry over the rim. The anger was gone from her face, replaced by an intensity around the eyes, making Harry feel like an object under study.

"Cyrus mortgaged the manor, took the money, didn't find a productive use for it, invested in a failed business, threw a party, whatever. It doesn't matter. He owed Gringotts, so I bought them out, so if worse comes to worst, I own the manor and you all won't be out on the street. With me so far?" asked Harry.

"Right," said Daphne. "Logical enough. Unless you are stringing me along and you really want something else."

"Well, you can listen closely, then you can tell me if you're uncomfortable with the rest of my evil plan," Harry said. "Cyrus owes more people. They can't get their hands on the manor, the house, lands, or anything else that is subordinate to that property because I own it. I still owe Gringott's, of course, but the lien takes precedence. However, I do have some leverage over your family's finances now because according to the terms of the loan I have the option to ask for additional collateral if the amount owed goes up, and if it is not forthcoming, I can foreclose and take the manor or auction it, however I want to do it, to settle the debt. Getting clearer?"

"Why do you want to take over our financial affairs? They're a mess, and I don't know the half of it because Cyrus lies and obfuscates whenever I ask," said Daphne.

"I don't want to take over," Harry said. "I want to work with you."

"What's to work with? Cyrus won't let me near…Oh…Harry Potter, you sneaking, conniving little…," said Daphne, running out of words.

"You have a head," said Harry. "I don't know if you have a head for figures or not, but that can be remedied. You have a head for what is right. For thinking systematically. With just a little push, you can get into Cyrus' books, if he has any, prioritize, rank order the obligations from most dangerous to least, deal with the most pressing, negotiate payment schedules for the lesser important ones, and so on."

Harry leaned back in his chair, slowly, to draw out the squeak. He didn't know why, but for some reason he liked to play the squeak, as if the chair were a musical instrument.

"He'll never do it," Daphne sighed. "Wizard. Pride. Thinks he knows, the witches certainly don't know…"

"Hence the need for just a little leverage," Harry said.

"How did you do it? Do you have half a million galleons lying around?" asked Daphne. "That's just a bit hard to believe."

"I might have been able to raise it on my own," Harry answered. "It wasn't necessary, though, because I have been doing a little business with Gringotts, not every single one as big as this, of course, but my record is good. I've made them a few galleons. The numbers worked for this. It's for our mutual benefit."

"So you just signed for a half-million galleons? From the goblins?" Daphne asked, the disbelief thick, mixed with confusion, mixed with disorientation as her entire body of assumptions about the goblins of Gringotts, not to mention Harry Potter, was chucked out the window.

"No," said Harry. "Before we go further, we need to talk about…"

"Stop, that reminds me," Daphne said. The interruption was rude, an almost-unheard of occurrence where Daphne Greengrass was concerned. "Before we go further, what did you mean, you're mad for me?"

"Just that," said Harry. "I always have been. I wanted to get to know you better in school and then after the war I still wanted to but you remember how that went. I knew, when I took the time to reflect, that I had ruined something that should have been wonderful. It would have done a lot to fix me. Sometimes we have to learn these things the hard way. You saved my life, you know. Losing you was such a shock, and I had no one to blame but myself. When I realized that, and felt it in my heart, along with the gratitude I feel this minute, is when I started to get better."

"I was as much to blame as you," said Daphne. "Smartass, spoiled, privileged witch with no empathy. I couldn't see what I was doing was wrong and hurtful because I couldn't feel the effect all my snottery was having on others. The personal growth it took to realize that was painful. Well worth it, though."

"Me too. You saved my life. It hurt terribly but was worth every twinge. What's done is done," Harry said. "Ready to move along?"

"Let's go," said Daphne.

"Good," Harry said. "First of all, you're going to learn some information about my business dealings, which is inevitable, but which I expect you will keep entirely to yourself. We're not doing anything criminal. It's just business. Opportunities come and go, but if someone gets there first, it's generally conceded it is their opportunity and gone from the market. Thus, insider information is privileged. You keep confidences, in your profession. You'll apply the same rules here."

"I didn't have to pay half a million to buy the loan, which had a little under four hundred thousand outstanding. I bought out the goblins' interest in the loan. They loaned me the funds, which I secured by putting up some properties from my own portfolio as collateral. Now I have a loan with Gringotts for the amount I paid to redeem Cyrus' note with them, making Cyrus my debtor. I expect to pay off the loan from Gringotts with income from my properties, which are up and running and profitable. It's not that different from what you did before, although perhaps the number is a little bigger."

Harry stopped to take a sip of tea and open up the floor, should Daphne have a comment.

"So you borrowed the money, from the goblins, to pay off the note on Greengrass Manor that was the result of Cyrus borrowing money from the goblins?" she asked.

"Yep, I borrowed the money and gave it right back, getting Cyrus out from under that loan he had with Gringotts," Harry said.

"But now you owe the goblins," said Daphne. "No one has actually paid off anything."

"Oh, that's where you're wrong," said Harry. "Cyrus Greengrass was going to, in effect, sell a daughter to a man who expects to get two for the price of one, in order to catch up with the interest on his loan from the goblins. They're implacable. They'd hate to see you being turned into a little side diversion of your brother-in-law's because they actually do have hearts and feel bad about that kind of thing happening to nice people like yourself, but they would never interfere in Cyrus' family life or decision making, not when it comes to protecting the bank's interests. That's their moral code. It all gets sorted out by keeping their noses in their ledgers and out of wizards' business. On the other hand, if a young, successful investor comes in and wants to do a good deed, and he's a better risk than the other guy, the goblins are just looking out for the bank's best interests, even if the young guy plans to interfere with the old guy's family life and decision making. That's just smart business."

"You're the young guy who is a better risk?"

"I am," answered Harry. "Whatever he might raise from Astoria would not last long enough to pay off the mortgage, so Cyrus would be right back in the same vise he is in now, with no more daughters on the shelf. At that point it's likely the goblins would have to take back the property anyway."

"You put yourself on the line to get Cyrus off it. Why?" Daphne asked.

"What should I do? You brought it to me. I've already said I'm not going to put you all out on the street," Harry said. "You're scared to death Astoria is going to end up with a cad. The guy is so obtuse he suggested an arrangement with you before he's had as much as a conversation with Astoria."

"Look, I can carry the new loan. If I had to, with the market the way it is, I could sell a building, probably within a week, take the equity and deposit it and let that pay the monthly payments for quite a while. When that ran out I could do the same thing again, if I had to. BUT, with me owning the loan, I can grant Cyrus, and you, a suspension of repayments for a reasonable period, subject to one or two conditions."

"And what would those be?" Daphne asked.

"You and I get to sit down with Cyrus and his records and his banker, if necessary, and do a good workout on his debts. We take whatever he has been paying Gringotts and get the other creditors something, anything. Then we show them you have control and you're doing business, not flimflam. Once we see the real numbers, we do an inventory of Greengrass holdings. If your father is sufficiently detached from reality he may be sitting on all kinds of stuff, assets, that can be turned into cash and used to pay down debt. Then, of course, once we have our hands on the money and the property, you can sit down with Cyrus, Cordelia and Astoria, and explain there will be no more talk of marriage contracts with Laurent—what was his last name?"

"Selwyn," said Daphne.

"I wonder if I'll ever get the chance to punch him in the nose?" Harry speculated. "Laurent Selwyn. Merlin."

Daphne sat across from Harry, smiling, a kind of prideful, Cheshire Cat-ish smile.

"Do you mean it? You weren't just trying to calm me down, were you?" Daphne asked.

"Mean what?" Harry asked. "We've covered a lot…"

"Are you really mad for me? Is that how you feel?" asked Daphne.

"Of course, I wouldn't joke about something like that," Harry said.

Daphne looked like she was ready to launch straight across the desk and plant a good one on Harry's lips.

"But we're doing business first and then talking that over at length before we do anything else and let our hormones take over, Daphne. You agreed. We can't cock this up because if we do it's going to be a mess of historical proportions. Help me get this right, and we'll go on to the other," said Harry, rattling it off like gravel cascading down a metal roof.

"You're right, of course, Harry," said Daphne. "What are the rules? Arm's length? Never alone together?"

"When do you want to talk to Cyrus?" Harry asked. "The sooner the better. It might go smoother than we anticipate. The business could all be on a completely different footing in a week, then we turn our attention to the workout phase, get the Greengrass family some breathing room. Then we talk about the other. Talk first, ah…"

He had a synonym for 'copulate' ready to go, buried it, and lost his train of thought.

"…later," Harry said. "Pull your lower lip in, Snakette, your wiles will not get you anywhere."

"I had to try," said Daphne. "You're soul-less, Harry. I must work on that, as soon as I have the time."

"Right, then," said Harry. "Cyrus was meant to get this letter today. Therefore, he should get it. Getting it from you might not be the best thing, since you and your mother have interfered in Lord Greengrass's sacred precincts. I suggest I accompany you. Then I'll be an additional resource, to answer any questions you might be asked that are outside the scope of your knowledge. There's also the matter of Astoria. Would Cyrus do the irrational, or unthinkable, and try to do a quick deal, just to exert his authority? In other words, would it be wise to get her out of town for a short vacation?"

"Oh, Merlin and Morgana, Harry," said Daphne, "I wish you hadn't brought that up. I have thought about that. He could, he's that full of pride, and himself. Cut off his nose to spite his face."

"Well, then," said Harry as he stood up. "Time is of the essence. Not to mention gold."

He stepped into his bathroom. Daphne heard a door hinge squeaking. Harry came back with a black robe and a necktie. He tossed the robe on his desk and turned up his shirt collar and tied the tie, turned down the collar and shrugged into his cloak.

"Going like that?" Harry asked.

"I guess, my closet's at home."

"Might be a good idea to leave a robe, pair of trainers, that kind of thing here. Give yourself the option to change. You'll be here from time to time, as long as we're in business together. You can share with Pansy, if sharing with me would be too…suggestive?"

"Harry Potter, you Puritan!" laughed Daphne.

"In a bad way?" Harry asked as they went out the door. Harry set the lock and wards on the door, took Daphne's arm, and started down the mews. Dieter Berg was fast, but he should have used an occlusion charm, because he was just enough slower than Harry for Harry to catch him ducking into a little recessed doorway.

"Hang on," Harry muttered as he dropped Daphne's arm and threw his around her waist.

"Where is this?" Daphne said as they materialized on the lawn of a large, derelict country house. "I thought we'd be going to Cyrus and Cordelia's."

"We will," said Harry. "This is just a little diversion. Stay with me, I don't think it will take very long."

"So where are we?" Daphne asked as they walked up a weedy path to the front steps.

"Devon," Harry said. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Sure, but whose place is this?" Daphne asked.

"Mine," said Harry. "It's the old Potter Manor. It was damaged in the fighting, I wasn't able to take care of it properly, so some elves and goblins got it stabilized and protected from the weather and I've been trying to find the time and funds to take on restoration. Projects just keep popping up. It's distracting. I really have to get my priorities in order. Let's get inside, I want to be ready."

"For what?" Daphne asked.

"I saw someone back there," Harry said. "I judge he didn't get something that he wanted from me and now he will try something a bit more…ah…forceful. You don't get sick or catatonic in the midst of violence, do you? Because I don't anticipate a lot of trouble, but you know how these things sometimes take on a life of their own."

Harry raised his wand and the planks that had been nailed over the great front door popped off and floated to the left side of the stairs, where they stacked themselves neatly, ready for re-use. Once the planks were gone the front door opened with a long, drawn-out sigh. Harry took Daphne's hand and led her inside to an ornate foyer. A long hall stretched ahead of them, black and white square tiles making up the floor, closed doors to the left and right, a flight of stairs inset in the right side of the hallway twenty feet or thereabouts ahead. Daphne noticed the tiles shone as if scrubbed and polished just for their arrival.

"Keep your ears open. I don't know if he knows how to follow, but if he does, he'll apparate out on the lawn. Let's go in here."

Harry opened a door on the right side of the hallway and they entered a room with high ceilings, paneled walls complete with a carved frieze, and dozens of framed pieces, presumably portraits, under drapes on the walls.

"_Revelio!"_ Harry shouted, raising his hands above his head. Daphne noticed he didn't need to wave his wand around, but simply kept it in his hand, like he was conducting an orchestra. The drapes flew off the portraits and went away somewhere. A fire started in some logs in the fireplace and the lamps, candles and sconces lit up together.

"Everyone!" Harry shouted again, and the portraits began waking up, blinking, stretching, looking around. Some picked up eyeglasses and put them on.

"Everyone, this is the Healer Daphne Greengrass, the heir to Lord Cyrus of Greengrass Manor. Some of you had to know her family back when. There's all kinds of business I need to discuss with you but something is pressing right this minute and the other will have to wait."

"Harry Potter!" exclaimed one of the witches' portraits. "What have you gone and done?"

"Grandmother Dorea, I kept a confidence and this wizard Berg is being a pest about it. I think he may be on his way here. If so, I'll count on the Potters' family magic coming out to play. See how good it feels this morning," Harry said.

"Berg?" asked Dorea. "A Romansh Berg from Switzerland? What's his name?"

"Dieter," said Harry. "Know him?"

"Knew one," said Dorea, "But that one's dead, not at all sorry to say. They're always on the wrong side. Always. It's like a habit with them. What's that tie say?"

"_Toujours Pur_," Harry said, slipping his hand behind the tie and lifting a little, while he gave Dorea Black Potter a hopeful smile. "See the ravens? Are you pleased?"

"Of course, you little renegade," said Dorea, a huge smile taking over her face. "Make sure you put your girlfriend in a safe place, something about her aura is telling me she's a keeper."

"You're sounding authoritative, Grandmother," Harry observed.

"Harry," said Daphne, who was turned around, looking out the door. "Visitor."

"Oh, thanks," said Harry. He turned and flipped his wrist in the direction of a large sofa, causing the covering sheet to fly off and go somewhere.

"Let's sit down," Harry said.

"Going to have to get right back up again," Harry observed as Dieter Berg showed up in the center hall, just outside the door.


	12. Chapter 12

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Twelve

What A Day

"Mr. Potter," said Dieter Berg as he walked in the salon. "Pardon the intrusion. I wouldn't have come but you have something that, by rights, you are obligated to share. I've come for it. Now, the witch you know as Romilda Vane, who was once married to my father, is in England. She was seen in the vicinity of your office. Considering your past history with the witch Romilda Vane Berg, you undoubtedly know this. The family's correspondents are convinced you know her whereabouts. If you don't, that's too bad because I will be forced to subdue you so you can watch me first interrogate the young lady in front of you."

"Harry," Daphne began.

"Don't worry, that's not enough wizard to stress your mildest stunner," said Harry. "We're going to have to handle him very carefully because he is dumb and inbred. Good with languages, though, according to him."

"Mr. Potter, you are being very foolish," said Dieter Berg. "You do not want to provoke me. I could kill you both before you could move."

"Well, Signur Berg, I've been dead and it wasn't all bad. I learned a lot from the experience, as you can surely imagine. I can easily arrange for you to be dead if you'd like to see what I'm talking about. First though, the formalities," said Harry as he stood, hands visible so Berg could see he was wandless.

"Fellow wizard, my name is Harry James Potter, Lord Potter and Lord Black, Heir of Ignotus Peverell, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, Order of Merlin. You are standing uninvited in my family seat, wherein reside the sacred portraits that represent the shades of my ancestors. So you can take your Berg and slide it you-know-where, and I hope you enjoy it immensely. I don't know where Romilda Vane is and if I did I'd enchant her and put her at the bottom of the Marianas Trench and send you down after her because your degenerate Roman magic doesn't impress me one bit," Harry said as Berg became redder and redder. "Before you were halfway to the bottom you'd be crushed and compacted until I could hang you from a twenty karat gold chain and present you to Romilda to wear around her neck along with whatever other well-deserved loot she snookered out of your provincial pervert of a grandpa."

Dieter Berg was one of those men who liked to get good and angry before he started fighting because he thought it made him a better fighter, and besides, it just felt so good. Too bad for him he didn't think about the meaning of what Harry told him, just being honest, about the status of an invader in the presence of Potters, Blacks, Peverells and Salazar Slytherin.

Dieter wasn't fooling around but went straight to Harry's old acquaintance, the killing curse, _Avada Kedavra_. He got it off, but it never arrived. Dieter Berg had just time enough to unstraighten his arm and start puzzling over his wand when the paralysis began. Within two seconds he was completely petrified. He didn't topple over because something levitated him. He began revolving slowly as soon as his feet left the floor. A transparent cube appeared around him. It was immaterial, with six perfectly square sides that rippled slightly as the cube turned, so it didn't seem to be solid. Harry walked over to the cube and looked in at the petrified Dieter Berg as his ancestors shouted, clapped, cheered, laughed, whistled and rapped their painted table tops with their knuckles.

"Yes, alright, thank-you for the help," Harry called out. "Well done, well done everyone. You are all my witnesses, I gave him all the facts he needed to know to avoid this very thing happening."

"So you did, lad, well done!" said one of the portraits.

"No one to blame but himself, and perfectly legal," laughed another.

"There's a place for him right there on the mantle if you want to show him off," observed a third.

Harry stood looking at the cube, assessing something.

"Now…"

Harry pointed his wand at the transparent cube and it began to shrink, Dieter Berg shrinking in proportion right along with the cube. When it was about the size of a standard lump of sugar, Harry plucked it out of the air and dropped it in the pocket of his robe.

"For ease of administration," Harry explained to everyone, and no one in particular.

He turned around, expecting to address his great-grandmother Dorea Black Potter but was surprised to see she was already involved in a side conversation with Daphne.

Walking up, he heard Dorea ask, "What do you think of him?"

"He's quite the specimen, isn't he?" answered Daphne. "Oh, Harry, I was just having a word with Madam Dorea. She wanted you to pass something along."

"Harry, give my love to Walburga when you get home, will you please?" Dorea asked.

"She might get upset and have trouble sleeping tonight if I do that, Grandmother," Harry said.

"Well, of course she will," said Dorea, giggling like a schoolgirl.

After all the excitement, the portraits were beginning to show signs of needing to get back to sleep.

"It's been a great day for Potter family magic, hasn't it?" Harry asked. There weren't any dissenters to his observation. "So, good-night, everyone, and I'll be back as soon as I can get here. Try to have some new stories for me next time."

The portraits that hadn't yet dropped off to sleep thanked Harry for coming, thanked him for putting on such a good show, and thanked him some more for bringing along his beautiful girlfriend.

"Okay," Harry said. He stood back from the sofa and raised his hands. The sheet flew back in from somewhere and arranged itself over the sofa. Harry raised his hands a second time and all the portraits' drapes flew back and covered them up, a few "Good-nights" leaking out here and there.

Harry led the way to the foyer, turned and waved the lights and fire out, then waved the door to the salon closed with his left hand. He took Daphne back outside, closing the front door from the top step. It didn't sigh this time, but said something that sounded like 'Harrumph.'

Then it was down to the front lawn and the replacing of the boards over the door.

"Ready?" Harry asked.

"I have a request," said Daphne.

"Oh?"

"Please don't think you have to top that, at least not for my sake," Daphne said. "Now, where next?"

"Now we can go to Greengrass Manor," Harry said.

"Ah," said Daphne. "That. Here I thought Cyrus was going to be the hard nut that needed cracking today."

"The night's young," Harry said. "It's not even quite here yet, is it? Give Cyrus a chance."

Daphne put her arm across Harry's back, he laid his arm over hers and grabbed a fistful of robe. Daphne dropped them right outside the Greengrass Manor wards.

"You haven't been here before, have you?" Daphne asked.

"I don't remember it if I have. At one point, you know, blackouts…ah," said Harry.

"Chalked up to experience, Harry," Daphne said. "That's all water under the bridge. I don't remember you being here, or you and I being here."

Daphne walked with Harry up the steps to the front door, which opened for them. The house elf on door duty was so tiny Harry didn't see her right away.

"Oh, my," Harry said. It was a reaction, nothing he wanted to say.

"Sorry, I'm Harry Potter," Harry said, dropping into a squat and extending his hand. "You are?"

"Fluff, Lord Harry, I have always wanted to meet you, such an honor, sir," said Fluff.

"Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Fluff," said Harry as the elf enthusiastically shook Harry's index finger.

A witch, quite handsome, looking like an older version of Daphne, stepped out of a doorway.

"Daphne, you're home early," she said, her voice a little warbly.

"I didn't work a full shift, Mother," said Daphne. "I worked on the problem you handed me."

"Oh? What problem is that?" the witch asked.

"The financial thing, the one the owl brought? From Gringotts?" Daphne said.

"Oh, that. I asked your father about it and he assured me that is some kind of administrative error," said the witch. "He has an appointment at Gringotts tomorrow and he's going down there to give them a piece of his mind. After all the years he's done his banking there you'd expect those goblins to have a better grasp of just who Cyrus Greengrass is. Oh, forgive me sir, you are?"

"Harry Potter, madam, and you must be Daphne's mother?"

"Sorry, Mother, this is Harry, who was at Hogwarts with me," said Daphne. "Harry, my mother, Cordelia Greengrass."

Mrs. Greengrass glanced at Harry's forehead, apparently seeking confirmation of Daphne's description, before bothering herself just enough to extend a limp hand vaguely in Harry's direction. Harry took Cordelia's fingertips between his thumb and first finger and leaned over.

"Delighted to make your acquaintance," said Harry. "Such an honor to meet Daphne's mother."

Cordelia gave Harry a look, a very neutral one, as if it would have pained her to show disdain because Harry didn't rank high enough for Cordelia to take umbrage over the fact that she had to share the earth with him.

"Same, I'm sure," Cordelia managed. She turned to Daphne.

"I take it the attraction isn't _physical_," Cordelia said, shifting her eyes to Harry then back to Daphne.

"Mother," said Daphne, a mix of plea and warning. "Harry is here to help. You and Father will hear him out. Let's not leap off the cliff. There are no lemmings here."

Harry thought Cordelia Greengrass was going to opt out of responding altogether but she got to the end of her ability to resist and sighed: "Cyrus is in the study."

"This way," said Daphne, taking Harry's sleeve and directing him to a door. Just before knocking she whispered, "Let's do 'Getting To Know You' first. Take your time, talk a little quidditch. He really responds to the social niceties."

Harry was sure Cordelia Greengrass heard Daphne's cheeky comments but the older witch gave no sign.

"Come in!" said a voice at Daphne's knock on the study door.

"Daphne, good afternoon," said a distinguished-looking wizard who Harry deduced was Cyrus Greengrass. "Home early?"

"Easy day, so far," said Daphne.

Harry thought about Dieter Berg and had to agree—Dieter Berg had made it easier than Harry anticipated.

"And your friend?" asked Cyrus. Cordelia stood still, and ramrod straight, shifting her eyes as the conversation went back and forth.

"Father, may I present an old Hogwarts classmate, Harry Potter? We've recently become reacquainted and Harry has been very gracious as a kind of consultant. Harry, this is my father, Cyrus Greengrass," Daphne finished.

Harry and Cyrus extended their hands and shook.

"Welcome to our home," said Cyrus. "We're very pleased to meet you."

Cyrus looked to his wife for confirmation but she was keeping her cards close to her vest.

"It's an honor, sir," said Harry. "You were a Chudley Cannon at one time, weren't you?"

"Among others," Cyrus said with a laugh. "The only record I set was, I think, the player most traded in one season."

"Still, that's professional experience," said Harry. "It has to have been invaluable."

"And you didn't play after Hogwarts, did you, Mr. Potter?" asked Cyrus. Daphne looked a little annoyed at her father's forward comment.

"No, sir," said Harry. "When I finished school I wasn't in the best condition, upstairs. I'd have been a menace in competition. Providence had a hand in my decision, I believe. At least, that's what I tell myself. I still fly for fun and play pickup with other old boys and old girls. No time for a commitment to an organized team."

"That's great!" said Cyrus. "Keep your hand in, stay in shape. Having retired from quidditch and business both, I have to fill my days with management of this property and some investments. The manor gets me up on my feet, out and about."

"Glad to hear it, sir," said Harry. "Your family is going to need your presence, and, may I say, leadership, for many years to come."

"I'll try, Harry, I'll try my best," said Cyrus. "No more chat, though, what would you like to drink? Butterbeer, wine, firewhisky, coffee, tea, water? Cider, perhaps?"

Harry looked at Daphne, then Cordelia. Neither spoke, apparently looking to Harry for guidance. Harry chose tea. Can't go wrong with tea.

"Hot tea, black or green, doesn't matter, and a small glass of water, please," said Harry.

"Same," said Daphne.

Cordelia looked disappointed.

"Same," Cordelia agreed.

Cyrus summoned Fluff and had the order placed a minute later, and another house elf arrived a minute or so after that. Everyone spread out around the study, with the exception of Cyrus Greengrass, who returned to his desk chair. Three people took a teacup and a saucer, with a medium-sized water glass nearby, sitting primly on a crocheted doily. Cyrus traded an empty glass for an identical one filled with firewhisky.

Harry sipped his tea, not looking anywhere in particular, his peripheral vision being sufficient for keeping an eye on Cyrus, who was keeping an eye on him. Harry wondered how long Cyrus would be able to keep up his ruse of ignorance of Harry's transaction with Gringotts. Cordelia had given away the game when she told Daphne and Harry that Cyrus had an appointment for the next day at Gringotts, where he intended to give them a piece of his mind.

All well and good. Harry wasn't prepared to trade his lien on Greengrass Manor for a piece of Cyrus' mind. He'd certainly listen if Cyrus had something to say.

"What…activities are you pursuing these days, Mr. Potter?" Cyrus finally asked.

"It's Harry, sir," Harry said. "I registered a little LLC just to have a name to put on the door. I have an office on the ground floor of a building, on that lane near Diagon Alley? I work with one associate, on joint projects of mutual interest. We're trying to get a complete register of our Hogwarts cohort."

"Worthy, I suppose," said Cyrus. "Any particular reason?"

Harry sighed and looked at the ceiling.

"I guess, the best way to put it would be to say, we don't want to find out too late that we left anyone behind."

No one had a follow-up, but Harry looked at Daphne and noticed she was giving him a huge smile.

"And the good works," said Cyrus, starting up again, "There's a living in that?"

"Nahh…that's for fun. The satisfaction of doing it," said Harry. "I bought a building. Got a loan from Gringotts, bought a building, found an elf couple to work with who love renovation work, put the building in shape and rented out two apartments. Those are above my office. Once the building was modestly profitable and I found another building, I showed my loan officer the numbers and was able to buy the second building with another loan from Gringotts. The prospective rents, post renovations, were conservative, based on the current market, and would put the building in positive cash flow almost immediately. That's how it turned out, and this time Gringotts let me secure the loan with the building."

"They turn over enough for you to pay yourself something?" Cyrus asked.

Harry reminded himself Cyrus had been around business for years. Even if he wasn't a very good businessman he might have an understanding of some basic principles.

"My personal expenses are almost negligible. There's a little put aside that I can live on. Anything left over from the buildings is going right back in," Harry said. "I try to stay focused on making the buildings the best I can make them, keeping them fully occupied, and let the money take care of itself. Within reason."

Harry laughed at his post script, which got Daphne laughing along with him.

Cyrus sat up straight in his big leather upholstered chair. He slapped his hand on the inkstained desk blotter and shouted at Harry:

"If you don't give a damn about the money, Potter, what are you doing going behind my back and buying up the mortgage to this manor, which has been in my family for centuries? You're trying to skim the cream from generations of work by the Greengrass family on the cheap. You even roped my oldest child into the scheme. Did you have to seduce her to get her to work for you against the interests of her own family?"

Harry looked straight into Cyrus Greengrass's eyes. He was fighting a desperate internal battle to keep his voice even and his hands from attaching themselves to Cyrus Greengrass's neck. Daphne looked like she was about to cry over the way her own father spoke about her. Cordelia Greengrass looked like she was going into shock.

"Your daughter, Lord Cyrus, is an exemplar of virtue, a faerie queen straight out of the old ballads, so pure she puts newborn lambs in second place. She has done nothing with me but put the interests of the Greengrass FAMILY above every other consideration. That is every, single, member of the Greengrass family. Including her mother and sister."

Harry paused to let the meaning of the last sentences sink in. Cyrus turned redder and redder. Cordelia seemed to recover and turned her eyes on her husband.

"Cyrus?" she asked.

"Yes, Cordelia?"

"Cyrus, is this family in trouble? Are you going to lose the Manor?" Cordelia asked.

"Now, Cordelia, when have we ever…"

"Answer me!" Cordelia nearly shouted. "Answer me, Cyrus, please. Are we in trouble?"

Cyrus didn't say anything. He looked at Harry. He looked at Daphne.

He seemed to be saying, 'Help me out of this.' It was clear he didn't want to say it out loud.

"We have had some reverses on the business side, some investments that ought to have been solid didn't work out…" Cyrus said, looking again at Daphne.

Harry caught Daphne's eye and gave her a single nod. Daphne pulled the Gringotts' letter out of her inside pocket.

"My Dear Lord Greengrass," Daphne read out. "Gringotts is pleased to inform…"

When she finished reading, Daphne handed the parchment to her father, who let it drop on his desk.

"Why?" Cyrus asked.

"Cyrus, what does that mean?" asked Cordelia.

"Why? What are you in this for? Do you want to pick us clean? A vulture, is that what you are Potter?" Cyrus was getting wound up again.

"Cyrus!" Cordelia shouted for the second time. "What. Does. That. Letter. Mean?"

"It means Harry Potter owns this manor, my family seat, and the economic foundation of this family, and he can call in the loan if I'm a single knut short one month and there is not a damned thing we can do about it. That vulture there can throw us out on the street! Are you a man of honor, Potter? Shall we settle this according to the old ways? You went behind my daughter's skirt to take my property with financial manipulation, do you have a backbone or do you only work through witches?"

"Father, will you please shut UP?!" said Daphne, who'd had just about enough. "You had better shut your mouth and listen for a change. Harry may be the last chance you have to get us back to solvency."

Cyrus may have thrown in the towel because he was tired of the fight or because his situation finally clarified for him or because his wife had spoken to him for the first time ever in a manner that suggested she had a spine more than stiff enough to stand up to whatever Cyrus Greengrass could throw at her, but for whatever reason, Cyrus was silent.

Daphne let things settle for a bit before she spoke, her quiet voice commanding attention.

"First of all, Mother, and Father, it would not be a good idea to insult Harry again. How he has the forbearance to sit there and calmly listen to that offensive diatribe I do not know," Daphne began. "I suggest, for the good of the entire Greengrass family, that you treat Harry, Lord Potter, and Lord Black, Order of Merlin, Heir of Ignotus Peverell, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, and a permanent member of the Wizengamot with the respect to which he is entitled. Yes, I said entitled. Because he's powerful enough on his own, but his family magic? Take my word for it, we don't ever want to make the House of Greengrass the enemy of Harry Potter. Alright? Good."

"Now," Daphne went on, "Harry has outlined to me a brilliant plan for working our way out of some difficulties. Listen, please. Be flexible. This is all going to get better. Harry?"

"It's true, you're no longer in hock to Gringotts. I am in hock to Gringotts. You are in hock to me, but I have no interest in your manor. I've got one and I am too busy to take proper care of it. Therefore, a second would be nothing but a distraction, an impediment. The amount I borrowed from the bank is secured with my other buildings. Gringotts doesn't want those back, either. I invest in buildings, Gringotts handles money, understood?" said Harry, stopping there and looking around at the other three.

"Good," Harry said before starting up again.

Over the next thirty minutes he told Cyrus that Cyrus would be bringing Daphne into his confidence on every scrap of business that concerned the Greengrass family. She would have access to every loan and advance that Cyrus was obligated to repay, every asset the family owned that could be put to productive use or sold for cash. Daphne would, in conference with Cyrus and Harry, rank order obligations so that the ones that presented the greatest threat would be paid off first while none would be allowed to become non-performing.

"So if it comes to that, we'll meet with those at the bottom of the list and find a solution. Longer payoff, consolidation, whatever works to keep them on our side while we tackle the higher priorities," said Harry, finishing up.

Cyrus sat staring straight out a window at the late afternoon light for what seemed like a long time. Then he looked at Cordelia. Her face was truly inscrutable, at least to Harry. Maybe her family could read her, but Harry couldn't.

"Fine," said Cyrus.

"Fine. We will give it our best. Merlin knows some of my decisions didn't work out the way I thought they should. But, is it alright to call you Harry? But, Harry, why are you doing this?"

Harry looked at Daphne. Daphne shrugged. 'Up to you,' she seemed to be saying.

Harry sighed.

"While I have the money, power, skill, or whatever else it might take, I cannot sit by and watch while Daphne's beloved sister is sold off to pay old debts."

Cyrus and Cordelia sat upright so quickly they could have been subjected to a substantial electrical shock. Harry looked at Daphne, whose eyes had filled up and overflowed, a single tear now running down both cheeks.

"That's not true!" Cyrus shouted. "Laurent Selwyn will be a perfect match for Astoria. She's dragging her feet a little, it's true, a schoolgirl crush, nothing she can't get over. In the end, she'll do her duty to her family and we'll welcome Laurent as if he were our own, the same as Astoria and Daphne. I can't think of anything that would change my mind on that."

Harry and Daphne shared a moment.

"Tell him," Harry said. "He needs to know. Your mother does, too. They need to know what they are pushing Astoria into."


	13. Chapter 13

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Thirteen

Two Witches' Tales

Everyone's eyes were on Daphne as she began her story. Harry's tea had cooled, but it was delicious all the same, so he leaned back to enjoy it.

"Laurent sent me an owl last week," Daphne began. "His note said as long as we were going to become in-laws, he would like to get to know the other members of Astoria's family, which he was so much looking forward to joining. Laurent suggested conversation over lunch, split the tab. Strictly getting-to-know-you."

"Right, that sounds legitimate. We met in London. I suggested the Leaky Cauldron, because it's convenient, but Laurent objected. Too common. Too crowded on weekdays at lunch time. He suggested a surprise, which he said I'd like. He took me to Penzance. There is a magical pub, a side room attached to one of the old historical places, just for wizards and witches. It was a bit further than I wanted to be from London, just for lunch, but it is one of my favorite places in the whole world so we went in and sat down. Over lunch, separate tabs, Laurent Selwyn advised me he would not be interested in Astoria for very long, that I am much more to his taste, and he suggested what he called an 'arrangement' with me. He'd be married to Astoria, but he and I would meet regularly for sex. That way we both get what we really want. No strings, of course. He seemed genuinely puzzled that I was not enthusiastic."

"No, Daphne, no," said Cyrus. "There has to be some mistake! You could not have been having lunch with the Laurent Selwyn we're talking about. What did he look like?"

"Teeth like a toothpaste advertisement, gelled-up brown hair, blue blazer and a tieless white shirt. Looked as if it was tailored. It fit like a uniform," said Harry. He couldn't resist adding: "In a magical pub."

"Harry and I had been there just the night before," Daphne went on. "We had pasties. Harry woke up craving the fish and chips, so he treated himself to lunch in Penzance. How could you resist taking Laurent out back for a good session of fisticuffs, Harry?"

"It was hard," Harry admitted.

Cordelia, who had been keeping her thoughts to herself, chose then to speak up.

"I knew Laurent Selwyn had a reputation but that takes the cake," she said. "He's out. I don't want to see him within one hundred feet of either of my girls again. Ever."

"Cordelia, please listen…" Cyrus managed.

"He's out, Cyrus, done," said Cordelia. Her voice steady and even, Cordelia Greengrass had abandoned her tippler guise and was dictating, not negotiating. "We will work our way through this pinch. Tighten our belts. Daphne will come up with the most generous allowance she thinks is reasonable and we will not spend one knut more. There will be no need to get involved with dowries now, so we'll schedule a luncheon with Lucius and Narcissa and initiate a conversation. We'll terminate our talks with the Selwyns tomorrow and I'll owl Narcissa. Understood?"

Cyrus couldn't speak, but he did nod, finally.

"You'd better start composing your message to the Selwyns, Cyrus," Cordelia said. "See if you can put this to rest without getting yourself into a duel."

"Would you check on Astoria, Daphne?" Cordelia asked. "She was napping. She needs to get up or she won't sleep tonight at all. Then she's a crank all day tomorrow. She might need to be at her best, depending on how things progress."

"And I will ask your kind permission, Lord Greengrass, Lady Greengrass," Harry said as he stood. He nodded to Daphne, who reached for his hand and held it tight for a moment before turning toward the door.

"I'll see you out, Harry," said Cordelia, rising. They left Cyrus alone in the study. Cordelia closed the door and drew her wand, which she gave a little wiggle between Harry and herself.

"Nobody's business but ours, Harry," she said. "Thank you for doing this. I knew things weren't going well for Cyrus, of course. All the scrambling, paying at the last possible moment, the obvious lies about the accounts. Do you think that you and Daphne can get to the bottom of it all?"

"Oh, if Mr. Greengrass cooperates, sure," said Harry. "It's no more complicated than addition and subtraction. Is there enough income to spread around and beat back the tide? There ought to be, with a holiday on the mortgage repayment. I'll do the best I can. If we can just stabilize things it should all work out."

"Thank Merlin," said Cordelia. "You're really extending yourself, for a school friend. Is there anything I need to know? Just so I don't trip over my tongue in conversation?"

Harry thought Cordelia's way of keeping a delicate question neutral in tone hilarious. It was prying, but ordinary concerned mother prying, and Cordelia managed to pry without sounding like it.

"We're of one mind on something, Mrs. Greengrass, Daphne and myself—business first, personal later," Harry said, adding, "She's smart, level-headed, accomplished. She's beautiful, I'd say. You never know."

Harry and Cordelia were back on the front steps.

"Just get past that chunk of rock that pops up there, Harry, and you're outside the wards," said Cordelia. "I assume you're going by apparition."

"Yes, and thank-you for the hospitality. We'll do it again soon, no finances, just fun," Harry said.

"Merlin willing," said Cordelia, adding, "You have my thanks, Harry."

Harry was walking out to the rock that marked the extent of the wards when he remembered Pansy's expedition to Hogsmeade, and Harry's intention to check up on her. The time for checking was well past.

"Damn," Harry said aloud, slapping his own forehead. He reached the end of his walk, visualized the square in front of the Three Broomsticks, and disapparated.

"Harry Potter!" exclaimed Rosmerta when he walked into the pub. "Come for Pansy?"

"How'd you guess?" Harry asked. "Is she alright?"

"Fine, as far as I know," said Rosmerta. "We had tea, she told me about Romilda and her in-laws, then she went out and did the circuit here in Hogsmeade. One more cup of tea and she left for London. She said you might be coming by. How about a butterbeer? Firewhisky?"

"Butterbeer sounds good," said Harry. "Do you have a minute?"

Rosmerta looked around. She had a fairly good crowd.

"It'll have to be a minute, I'm afraid," she said.

"On the topic of Romilda, her in-laws are definitely here looking for her," said Harry. "They aren't fooling around. If anyone comes in and leans on you, don't hesitate to get help. Whatever the disagreement is about, it appears to have become an honor thing."

"Who are they, anyway?" asked Rosmerta. "Pansy said the name is Berg?"

"They're from some high valley around the Swiss-Italian border, and they're Romansh speakers, and they seem to think Romilda owes it to them to come back. Romilda, obviously, doesn't see it that way," Harry said. "That's all I know."

"Got it," said Rosmerta. "How'd Romilda get involved with something so, what's the word I want—esoteric?"

"Sold, plain and simple, is my understanding," said Harry. "Although I haven't spoken to her directly."

He finished his butterbeer, thanked Rosmerta, promised not to wait so long next time and took the floo back to the Leaky Cauldron. From there he walked across Diagon Alley to the mews, and the offices of Potter and Associates.

"Harry?"

"Pansy? Are you hanging around?" Harry asked.

Pansy walked out into the foyer, a pile of note parchment in her hand. She looked down and began reading off the principals' names.

"Neville Longbottom," she read, peeling off a parchment and handing it to Harry. She went on through the notes, odd bits of business that he needed to know about. Pansy got to the last note.

"Romilda Vane," she said, holding up the parchment. "Requests an appointment."

"Merlin," said Harry. "What. A. Day."

"Well, you like helping people, so perhaps she came to the right place," Pansy said. "Can you see her?"

"She's here?" Harry asked.

"Uh-huh. We've just been sitting around talking. She's in my office."

Harry shrugged. "Why not?" he said.

"Romilda, did you want to see Harry?" Pansy called out.

Romilda Berg, nee Vane, stepped out of Pansy's office into the foyer.

"Hullo, Harry," she said. She'd crossed the foyer but stopped several feet short of arm's length.

"Romilda," said Harry. "It has been quite a while."

Harry waved Romilda and Pansy both into his own office, followed them in and closed his door. He touched the lock/handle assembly with his wand tip, then set some confidentiality charms. Harry didn't sit down but stepped into his bathroom and looked around, even opening the closet door for a quick peek. Only then did he return to his desk and pull out his swivel chair.

"Please," Harry said, gesturing toward the chairs with his hands.

"Kreacher," Harry called.

"Kreacher is here, master," said the elf as soon as he appeared.

Harry solicited drink orders. He asked for some snacks for everyone in consideration of the time.

When Kreacher had departed Harry let go.

"Romilda, I don't know what in Merlin's name you're doing here, or think you're doing here, but one of the Bergs was here looking for you. He had us under surveillance, at least for a couple of days. I'd like to help you with whatever it is that has you upset. If Dieter Berg is indicative of what you were having to put up with, I wouldn't want anything to do with that family either. Still, he found the office. Someone could be watching right now. I don't even know the best way to get you out of here."

"Oh, I know some occlusion charms," said Romilda.

"All of which have corresponding counter-spells, as you know," said Harry. "What do you want us to do? Do you want to disappear for a little while? Let something blow over?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do, but it won't make sense without the story up to this point," said Romilda. "Anyplace you just have to be?"

Harry wanted to be anywhere but right there in his office. His townhouse, #12 Grimmauld Place, reeked of magic, layers and layers of serious spells, offensive and defensive, laid on by the Black family over generations of occupancy. It should be impervious to any sort of assault by the Bergs or their allies. On the other hand, Harry thought, what if the Bergs were resourceful enough to make an official report and get the local authorities involved? It didn't take a lot of imagination to predict the outcome of a report of a kidnapping or hostage-taking. Let the aurors do the hard work, provide the diversion, then the Bergs snatch their prey and disappear into their valley, which was, surely at the very least, unplottable.

He considered Potter Manor, but Dieter Berg had been there earlier, and he could have had a co-conspirator watching from a distance. The hypothetical co-conspirator could still be there, concealed in a hedgerow. Morag's neighborhood was a possibility. They couldn't impose on the MacDougals but Morag might be able to suggest somewhere quiet. Harry and Pansy had been there recently, and Morag had owled her note. Harry didn't want to be responsible for bringing more trouble to Morag's cottage with everything else she was going through.

Harry came to a decision.

"Cloaks, hoods up. Balaclavas if you've got them," he said.

Minutes later, after they'd climbed the internal stairs, the three exited from a small penthouse and stood on the roof of the building. Harry put himself in the middle, they all interlaced their arms and Harry disapparated, taking the witches with him.

"Very, very good, Harry Potter," said Pansy after she'd had a moment to look around. They were in a cave in a sea-facing cliff. The breakers were below them but spray was reaching the cave entrance.

"Come on in, there is plenty of room. Get out of that spray or you'll be soaked," said Harry.

"Where are we?" Pansy asked.

"On the coast," said Harry.

Pansy doubled up her fist and shook it, as if delivering a genuine threat.

"I was here before," Harry explained. "Dumbledore and one of his field trips."

Harry's eyes were drawn back to the rock wall, the wall that opened when it was given fresh blood. He wondered if the lake was still inside, full of the dead. Harry had thought about the infieri from time to time. He wondered if it were possible to do anything for them? Were their souls in torment because their dead bodies had been reanimated? He wondered specifically about Regulus Black. Could he even be identified? If Harry got him out of the cave, would Regulus lay down, die, and be grateful to go to his rest?

"Well, the weather is not favorable and it won't be getting better, I presume, so we will be better off if we get to business. Romilda, bring us up to date, please," said Harry.

Romilda took a deep breath.

"I survived the battle and went home. I turned sixteen a few weeks later. My father decided it was time to unlock the capital I represented and took a hefty cash payment for me from a family on the Continent. I was married to an elderly wizard with grown children and grandchildren older than me. He was smitten with his teenage bride and wanted us to be in bed by seven-thirty. Then there would be some fumbling around. I was not much help. Too young, too inexperienced. I cried for weeks, whenever I could get off by myself. Then I decided to take charge of whatever little piece of my life and freedom was left to me.

"The Bergs speak Romansh among themselves, so I studied Romansh. I threw myself into it and worked harder than I'd ever worked at Hogwarts. I was desperate to learn. They'd go off into Romansh, obviously talking about me. I made more progress than they thought I had. I'd speak broken Romansh and they'd laugh, but my comprehension was getting better by the day.

"I decided to try to get better at old people sex. It's okay, you can laugh, I came up with the label on my own. I'll even confess I was really pissed at you, Harry, for not taking advantage of me when you had the chance. At least I would have had some idea of what was realistic. Well, take heart—we'll all be getting old, if we don't die first, but I can assure you, with some patience and a willingness to experiment and learn, the physical side of married life is possible for centenarians. It's true.

"I actually began to like my husband, a little. When he pawed and drooled on me and said sweet nothings in Romansh I could give him a little positive feedback. The first time I complimented him, in Romansh, on his potency, he was so happy. The following night I got into bed and slid my hand under my pillow. I came out with a diamond necklace. I don't know a lot about jewelry but I could see it was real, and it was old. An expert advised me recently the stones are real diamonds and the setting is platinum. My husband told me it was for making him feel like we had turned the clock back fifty years.

"I knew I had a problem, or would, soon. The children and their husbands and wives all watched me like a hawk. If the old man was giving his young toy the family jewels they'd naturally step in, just to protect their own interests. I hid the necklace under the floorboards of a wardrobe in our suite.

"The oldest son started to get aggressive. At first it was looks, angry, disgusted. Just being negative. He'd curse in Romansh but I was still trying to get better so it wasn't as much fun when I got to where I could understand. My husband started to go downhill during the second year I lived with them. His son, my step-son, got worse. I suggested we all cooperate and make the old man's last days as happy as we could, under the circumstances. When the time came I'd walk away and get out of their lives. I thought they'd be reasonable.

"My step-son became more angry and demanding. He trapped me in a bedroom that was kind of off by itself and insisted I have sex with him. I reminded him I was his father's wife, and that really enraged him. That was the first time he raped me. It was rough, but he didn't beat me or slap me around that time. I suspect he feared the old wizard, who still had some magic in him, bless him. My husband's mental condition slipped, bit by bit. Derek, the son, had trouble getting aroused. I tried different approaches. I had no idea what I was doing, just experimenting. Let's see, what's a delicate way to put this? When on one's knees there are some spots one can reach for some massage. He liked it, a lot. It worked better than slapping me, so I negotiated—plenty of what he liked in exchange for a slap-free session. It might have—I expect it saved my life.

"Eventually the old baron gave out. He was well over one hundred. Hearts and livers and kidneys all have their useful lifespans. He wasn't cold before Derek was after me. I don't know why but that is so sad for me to think about. Sold off or not, I tried to give my husband a mate, to the extent he still had use for one. He had so little life left to live. Derek's wife was evil. She threatened me with all kinds of things. Death was the least of it.

"She watched us one time. Didn't want to take part, just stood there radiating hate. I didn't initiate anything because I had to follow Derek's orders and move how he told me, when he told me, or risk getting one hell of a slap. When he was done she'd verbally abuse me, call me a whore, swear she'd never seen a woman as ugly as me. She accused me of using a whore's tricks for doing the things she had just heard Derek order me to do. Cursed me for imagining I, a whore, could take her husband from her. While he was getting dressed I had to lay there just the way I was when he finished so the wife could berate and spit on the whore. Things were deteriorating, fast. I could see, clear as day, how it was going to end.

"I thought I might have one chance to survive, if I got it right. I got all the gifts my husband had given me together and waited. It wasn't long and Derek came in my bedroom, late. He started bragging about how he'd just had sex with his wife and now I was going to perform as usual, while both of us enjoyed the scent of his wife's musk. He made it easy. He'd had a few drinks, so I assured him we could take all the time we needed. That's what I did. Took my time. Did all his favorite things. Made it last. His heart quit before I did.

"I left him on my bed, got my prezzies from the wardrobe, put them in a small rucksack, climbed a tower and apparated to a spot just inside the wards. The wards faced out, so nothing tried to keep me inside. I walked out, which did set off alarm spells. Even so, it took them lots longer to figure out I was missing than it did for me to disapparate several times, here and there in Europe. Then I came home. The next day I ran into Pansy in Fortescue's."

Harry sat still, just processing Romilda's story. Pansy looked like she wanted to throw up. Harry expected her to take a couple of steps to the mouth of the cave and let it go. Pansy stayed, listening.

"Where does Dieter Berg fit in?" Harry asked.

"Another step-son," Romilda said. "A year or two younger than Derek. I guess he's the baron now. What was he doing here?"

"Looking for you," said Harry. "You're to be brought back to your family. He was convinced I knew your whereabouts and was obligated to tell him. We had to leave that as unresolved. Neither one of us changed his position."

"Dieter was not one of the smarter ones, that was Derek," said Romilda. "Derek was a slave, though, to his appetites. He was getting worse the whole time I was there. That's not advisable when you're an alcoholic, a glutton and seventy years old."

"We need to wrack our brains," Harry said, looking at Pansy.

Pansy was embarking on a bit of crying but she quite ably nodded her head.

"What can you tolerate, Romilda?" Harry asked. "A little freehold on the summit of the tor so you can see who's approaching from any direction? You're seriously traumatized, believe me, I know what I'm talking about. Can you handle solitude? Do you have to hear peoples' voices? Can you sleep? I know that sounds ridiculous."

"It's not," said Romilda. "It's just our bad luck we're familiar with those subjects at our age. That's all it is, bad luck. We do what we have to do. We cope."

"You're a long way ahead of where I would be," Harry said.

"I'd like someplace quiet. Non-magical wouldn't be a problem. I can be discreet, keep the magic under cover. I'm going to be resting and paying attention to my diet. It seems logical to me that my interests would best be served by anonymity," Romilda said. "I do need access to a healer."

Some kind of witch perception lit up in Pansy. She raised her head and studied Romilda.

"How?" asked Pansy.

"The regular way," answered Romilda.

"Who?"

"I suspect Derek, although, it is, just possibly, the old baron," said Romilda. "Once, twice, maybe, in the zone."

"Merlin," said Pansy.

"What?" asked Harry.

Pansy looked at Romilda. Conversation lapsed for a moment while Romilda waited for Pansy to deliver her insight and Pansy kept silent, ceding to Romilda the right to decide.

"I'm pregnant,' said Romilda. "The Bergs don't have a healer. I'm two months overdue. I got back to civilization and did one of the home tests. That's one of the things I bought on the outing when Pansy and I met. I'd rather have a professional confirm it but the preponderance of evidence…"

"That will make things a little more complicated, eventually," said Harry. He stared out the mouth of the cave at the breakers hitting rocks. He stepped close enough to the edge to catch a little salty spray on his tongue.


	14. Chapter 14

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Fourteen

Some Comings and Goings

Harry thought through their situation. If Romilda was going to need support from a healer, she would be in contact with the Ministry of Magic health service bureaucracy, which meant appearing in health records, which could in turn bring her location to light. He judged the system in use in Magical Britain would probably not be useful to the Bergs who were unfamiliar with local conditions. Even so, Romilda would be wise to blend with the local scene. The cube Harry was carrying in the pocket of his robe was evidence of that.

Staying in London might not be best, because the anonymity of crowds was counterbalanced by Dieter Berg's relative ease making the connection between Romilda and Harry, not to mention the cryptic reference to Berg 'family correspondents.' Thus they'd need to reduce the likelihood of proximity to family correspondents. Harry made a mental note to settle up with the correspondents, should any of them come to light.

Harry went back to Romilda's mention of blending in with muggles. Where to go to do that? He had a thought.

"Romilda, have you ever been to Blackpool?" Harry asked.

"Just once, why?" asked Romilda.

"Muggles and crowds of transients," said Harry. "Excellent for blending-in. Holiday hotels and guest houses. There's a caravan park where you can rent, all set up, cooking and sanitary there in the unit. The only thing is you'd need to use muggle life skills. Could you do that for a week? It would give us a chance to see if there are more of your in-laws around. We could probably find someone to stay nearby and keep an eye on you."

He looked at Pansy, who rolled her eyes.

"I could do that," said Romilda. "Can I go back to my room for my things?"

"The muggle hotel near the Oxford High Street?" Harry asked.

"Yes," said Romilda. "I had expected to stay through checkout tomorrow."

"It all fits in your rucksack? Or it would with a shrinking charm?"

"Of course," said Romilda.

"Right, let's think through that," Harry said. "Is there is a lobby bar with a view of the lifts? A muggle business traveler, some kind of mid-Atlantic cypher, could sit there and watch comings and goings. If a traveling couple came in and used the lifts, went up, came down five minutes later, the cypher could watch their backs to the entrance. Meet at an agreed place and disapparate."

"Who's who?" asked Pansy.

"I'm the cypher," said Harry. "I think you're the missus, and Romilda will be Mr. Traveler."

No one had an issue so they set to work with wands, modifying clothing, hair styles and coloring.

Harry took off his robe to change it into a suit jacket. He considered leaving Dieter Berg there to guard the entrance to the lake chamber before deciding to take him along. Harry didn't know the end state of his family's transformation of Dieter into a knickknack. If Dieter suddenly transformed back to full size, or the petrification hex faded, everyone's interests might be better served if Harry were close by. Soon they were ready for their return to London, to a discreet apparition point tucked away behind a little grove in Hyde Park.

It was a short walk up a fairly direct path from the apparition point to the edge of the park. The hotel was a bit further on, but not much.

"Harry," said Pansy.

They stood across from the hotel waiting for a WALK signal.

"Uh-huh?"

"When we leave, out the door, turn right to the corner, and there is an alleyway to the right, where the hotel's wall ends," Pansy said. "See it?"

"Meet there?" asked Harry.

"Yes, I think so," said Pansy.

All three nodded.

"If we get in a fight or broken up somehow, try to get to Hogsmeade, to the Three Broomsticks. Get a room upstairs, if Rosmerta has any. She usually does. We'll reorganize there," said Harry. He looked at Pansy, then Romilda. Both nodded.

Harry went ahead. He passed through the revolving door to the street, went on into the lobby, looked around like a traveler meeting his local contact. He checked his watch. The contact must be running late. The traveler walked to the lobby bar, chose a seat where he could keep an eye on comings and goings. He spotted a left-behind newspaper and took a section to read while he waited.

Harry had ordered, and was waiting for the server to return with a large muggle soft drink, with a lemon wedge, when the out-of-town couple entered the lobby. Harry went over his work with a craftsman's eye. He didn't know what anyone else thought, but they looked to him like a couple of visitors coming back from museum stops and restaurant meals. He thought the gentleman half of the couple looked convincing, considering the raw material was a very female witch in her mid-twenties. They went to the elevator bank and pushed the button in the brass surround. Harry sipped his drink and watched the door open for the couple. The door was closing when a dark-haired woman, very thin, of medium height, stepped in front and put her arm out.

"Where did she come from?" Harry asked himself.

The door stopped and went back into the open position. The woman stepped into the car, taking a place in the far right corner. The door took its time closing.

"Damn!" Harry thought. He'd had to make a decision on an issue with potentially far-reaching consequences with no time to think. He decided, even if the woman looked Italian, and was a suspect member of the Berg clan, she'd gotten in the elevator with two fully-qualified, ornery witches. He didn't worry about his friends. He hoped Ms. Berg, if that was who she was, had the sense of self-preservation necessary to refrain from getting aggressive in such close quarters. Harry touched the side pocket of his suit jacket and felt the cube.

It was too late to do anything about it. With luck the stranger was just another random traveler headed back to her room.

Harry looked at his watch. Romilda assured him she wouldn't need more than three or four minutes in the room. A minute up and a minute down, more or less, and he should see the witches coming out of the elevator. Harry used his time to consider possibilities. He could competently cast silently and wandlessly, although he was more adept at some spells than others. He was very good with a silent, wandless '_Accio!_'

Just to be prepared, Harry drew his wand from his sleeve and held it, concealed in his folded-over newspaper. He looked around, visualizing his imaginary contact coming in through the revolving door, exiting the men's room over there by the literature rack, perhaps sitting at the car rental desk. The guy still hadn't shown up. Harry spotted two men who looked out of place, though. Both had short hair, wore undistinguished suits and bad neckties. Something stuck out. It wasn't the suits, even though they were in London, the world's lodestone for fine men's tailoring. One of the misfits shuffled his feet. Of course! They wore the same boots Dieter Berg had on.

"Oh," Harry thought. "It gets more interesting."

Two men in rain coats and felt hats were crossing the lobby.

Lots of men wear raincoats as a contingency in changeable weather. Those raincoats are fairly short, ending four to six inches below the tail of a suit jacket, letting the commuter dash to the train or slide in and out of an automobile seat. The men crossing the lobby wore long models, below the knee, close to mid-calf, one a double-breasted camel colored trench coat, the other all leather. Those men were aurors.

Harry wondered if the aurors planned to roust the Bergs, or Berg allies. Once he'd figured out the boots, Harry had no doubt that was who they were. The aurors took their time. They didn't make sudden movements unnecessarily. They tried to avoid upsetting magicals because that could cause an accidental magical event of some kind, leading to report writing and magical repair. A few muggle law enforcement types were briefed on the aurors and could generally spot them, and muggle law enforcement could react unpredictably in the presence of aurors and misbehaving wizards. When in muggle territory, the auror's job was to shut down magic before it became an issue, quickly, silently, and if possible, invisibly.

Harry leaned back in his chair. He took another look at his watch. It had been four minutes and fifteen seconds since the elevator door closed on the witches. The aurors walked slowly toward the two men on the sofa, who seemed to have alerted to the unwelcome attention. One leaned toward the other, who frowned and gave his head a single shake. He raised a newspaper. The aurors might not have had any interest in the two men, or in anything in particular. They walked slowly, turning their heads toward one another now and then, talking as they crossed the lobby.

Harry was watching as the elevator door opened. Pansy and Romilda stepped out and turned straight for the revolving door that led to the street. The woman who followed them into the car on the way upstairs was nowhere to be seen. The two men on the couch stood up just as the aurors arrived. They sidestepped, and the aurors mirrored their movement. An auror raised one hand a few degrees and spoke once. The men stopped moving and looked confused. Harry hypothesized they had both been treated to a _confundus_, or perhaps an _imperious_.

Noticing movement from across the lobby, Harry turned his attention back to the elevators. The woman he had seen before popped out of the car next to Pansy and Romilda's. She saw them immediately and turned after them. Harry saw the woman reaching into a canvas tote. She glanced toward the two men, broke her stride for a beat, then turned back toward the witches. Harry stood, taking his paper, and headed across the lobby on an angle to the woman's course. The woman wasn't subtle. Romilda and Pansy were suddenly doves and the mystery woman was their peregrine. Harry was ready when the woman's hand cleared her bag, holding her wand.

"_Accio!_" Harry thought, visualizing the wand flying into his hand. Catching the wand without missing a step, Harry moved on the woman just as she turned slightly, apparently looking for her missing wand.

"Darling, there you are," Harry said, smiling as he let her feel the tip of her own wand in her back. "I found the most incredible place for dinner, you're going to love it!"

Harry dropped his hand but stayed close. He bumped the woman's left shoulder lightly with his right, just to let her know he was there.

Despite their plan, the witches had stopped a few yards outside the door, just out of the way, in the direction of the corner. The gentleman traveler, Romilda, shot the witch a look.

"Luciana!" said the gentleman. "Just in time. We're off to dinner at _La Cueva_. Of course you'll join us!"

Romilda/Mr. Traveler slipped her arm under the stranger's and turned at the corner, continuing to the alley they'd seen earlier.

"What is this _La Cueva_? Where are you taking me? I know who you are, you're a whore, in disguise!" said the woman.

"Welcome to Britain, Madam," said Harry. "We hope you enjoy your stay with us!"

"Can you two navigate back to _La Cueva_?" Harry asked.

"Oh, certainly," said Pansy. "I remember it well."

"Wonderful!" said Harry. "Madam and I will see you there."

Harry and Madam popped into existence on the tiny strip of sand at the mouth of the cave.

"Inside, quick," Harry said, encouraging the woman with a grip on her upper arm. They had no sooner stepped off the sand when the woman began to rant.

"Where have you taken me, you kidnapper? There are two good men watching my back, they are probably killing the whore and her whore-dog-robber right now and they'll be here to kill you any second," said the woman, declining to engage in a civil debate.

Pansy and Romilda popped into existence on the tiny sand strip and hurried inside.

"Madam," Romilda said in greeting, still in her Tourist Man guise. Harry was pleased to see she was not using names just yet. Once the subject knows a name it's hard to take it back. If you have to make sure the name never leaks, there is only one way to do that.

"May I?" Harry asked. Romilda and Pansy nodded.

"Madam, your name, please?"

No response.

"Please state your name."

The woman was silent.

"Well, then, we'll give you a name," said Harry. "How about Romilda?"

"You will never call me Romilda nor will I answer if you do! That is a whore's name. A murdering whore's name! She killed my husband, the murdering whore!"

She sat silent again. Romilda looked ready to speak, but Harry held up his hand, cutting her off.

"You give me no choice. Throughout your interrogation we will have to address you as Romilda. Romilda Berg, I think," said Harry.

"Never!" screamed the woman. "My name is Marcella, Marcella Berg, and that murdering whore killed my husband."

She spat a good load on the floor of the cave.

"Then who was Romilda Berg?" Harry asked.

The woman swelled up and howled.

"She was a murdering whore who my father-in-law fancied. She plied him with her whore sex. She convinced him he was young again, he could perform as a man. He fell for her like a schoolboy. He sat under our grape vines and told my husband what she would do in their bed at night. Nasty things. Indecent. He was an old man, too old to be thinking about young women. She promised him a baby, a man can father a child at any age, she said. He was taking her to bed at seven-thirty, eight o'clock. He had been unable to complete the act for decades and she worked and worked and found ways to get him to the finish. He'd tell my poor husband about it the next day, sitting under the grapes and sipping his glass of wine. It drove my husband crazy."

Marcella stopped to catch her breath. She was panting like a dog. It was very humid inside the cave. Something luminescent, a lichen or similar, glowed its greenish glow from the sweating cave walls. The temperature had dropped with the onset of darkness but the moisture made the air feel thick.

"My husband, Derek Berg, was a good man. He was a good husband to me, before the whore drove him crazy. He would inherit his father's title when my father-in-law finished his course and we planned to live out our lives together, quietly. When the time came our portraits would be hung over the family's main dining table."

"Where was that, Madam Marcella?" asked Harry in his most solicitous tones.

"It is a valley, high up in the mountains, near where Switzerland and Italy meet," said Marcella.

"Does it have a name?" Harry asked.

"It's very old," said Marcella. "An ancient principality. We survive by avoiding attention. The family just call it Our Place."

"Everyone is magical?" Harry asked. "Either a witch or a wizard?"

"Of course!" said Marcella. "Everyone must contribute in a situation like ours. If we want to survive and be free, there is no provision for a murdering whore!"

Marcella's emotional entanglements, her hopeless situation in the cave, her identification of the woman who she was convinced was bent on stealing her husband, and who then had killed him, the loss of her backup from the hotel lobby, all combined to put her into hysterics. She cried, sobbed, threw herself onto the rock floor of the cave. Harry let her work it out in her own good time. When Pansy or Romilda moved or seemed to want to speak, Harry held up his hand. Gradually, the screaming gave way to sobbing, which descended into whimpering.

"Derek, Derek," Marcella moaned, over and over.

"Madam Marcella, why are you here?" asked Harry. "If your enemy is out of your life? No longer in the principality? An English witch, regardless of how she originally came to your place, not really one of the family, just a young widow adrift…She left and got out of your way of her own volition. Well, it's unlikely she'd be coming back to bother a powerful, secluded family such as your own. Your entire principality would be hostile to her, wouldn't it? She'd have no place there."

"She is an outsider who came to our place, lived among us, and now wants to leave? Never!" shouted Marcella. "She will talk, the neighbors will want the valley, they will bring the mercenaries. It has happened again and again. Read your history. No, there is a law. For our family to survive, the whore cannot be allowed to live."

Marcella sprang from her crouching position, a dagger in her right hand, and lunged for the still Mr. Traveler, a.k.a. Romilda. Harry grabbed for her wrist with his left hand, getting instead a handful of dagger blade directly on his palm.

Screams, shouts and tussling ensued. Pansy worked her way around behind Marcella and punched her once behind her left ear. It was a good punch, in that it was accurate. Pansy's first two knuckles contacted Marcella's mastoid and Marcella flopped on the cave floor, then didn't move again.

"Good one," said Harry. "Didn't even need magic."

Romilda looked like she was about to be sick.

"Let me see your hand, Harry," said Pansy. "I don't carry any dittany but I can charm the wound and stop the bleeding. You need to take that hand to St. Mungo's anyway. The blade could have been dipped in something."

"True," said Harry. "Give me a minute."

He turned to Romilda.

"There are some discrepancies. She told it her way, of course. Anything you want to dispute?"

"No," said Romilda. She sounded a little defiant. Some water formed a droplet on the ceiling and fell into a pool. Plunk!

"I didn't know about my husband's pastime, telling his son about our private life," Romilda went on. "If Derek carried tales as well, that explains a lot. Why didn't she bring it to me? I'd have found a way to get Lorenzo to stop. The old baron. Baron Lorenzo. His hero was Lorenzo di Medici. He was very proud to share the name."

Despite her overall bad experience at Our Place, Romilda smiled when she spoke of Baron Lorenzo.

"Will she keep coming after you?" Harry asked.

"Right now, tonight, I think she would say, 'Yes,'" said Romilda. "She could always get tired or discouraged or homesick tomorrow and go on back."

"Everyone's magical at their place?" Pansy asked.

"Yes, everyone," said Romilda.

"They must be really inbred," Pansy said, shaking her head. "Sounds like they're hostile to outsiders. Why don't they die out?"

"Lorenzo tried to tell me, when he was still lucid, how they kept track of who could marry whom and who couldn't," Romilda said. "The immediate neighbors won't interact with them at all, so they occasionally buy a spouse, generally a bride, from outside. The average person lives to one hundred or so, which means they have to keep the birthrate down. Trade brings attention. They work through cutouts of various kinds. That's the primary consideration in everything. Concealment from the outside world. Right after that is managing the food supply. But yes, they are really inbred."

"As we know from our own experience, without new blood, the magical families start producing oddities. Anomalies. Squibs, for instance," said Harry.

Romilda looked like she was alarmed about something.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Can we not go into that?" Romilda pleaded.

Pansy read Romilda in an instant.

"Oh, no, Romilda, you don't, they can't! That is evil, the purest kind of evil," she wailed.

"They do," said Romilda, and she began to cry.

"You know, for a fact?" asked Pansy, her voice barely audible.

Romilda nodded. Harry still hadn't caught on. He looked at Pansy, seeking an answer.

"The legend? The banquet? It's still going on, and they obsess about privacy and the food supply," Pansy muttered.

Marcella stirred. The others had been talking and hadn't noticed her blinking, then opening her eyes.

"You can't be allowed to live abroad, you foreign murdering whore," said Marcella. "You will face your fate sooner or later."

She turned to Harry.

"You seem to be in charge," she said. "Are you going to kill me? State your name. If you have any honor I have a right to know."

"No, I'm not going to kill you," Harry said. He stepped in front of the rock wall and laid his bleeding hand flat against the stone.

"My name is Harry James Potter, Lord Potter and Lord Black, Heir of Ignotus Peverell, Heir of Salazar Slytherin, Order of Merlin."

The rock parted and the sides pulled apart. Marcella looked into the darkness.

"Are you taking me in there to kill me?" she asked.

"I told you I'm not going to kill you," said Harry, then, to Pansy and Romilda: "You two stay out here."

"What is this place?" demanded Marcella. "There is so much magic here. And it is Dark. Very Dark. Are you responsible for this magic? Are you some kind of abomination?"

"I am an Heir," Harry said. "All of this around you is something I inherited. The one who made it left it to me."

He took Marcella's wrist and put her arm behind her back. For seventy, plus or minus, she was nimble, and deceptively strong. Harry got a grip on her thumb, a kind of submission hold, and directed her inside. There was the lake, looking just as it had when Harry had been there on the last night of Albus Dumbledore's life. Harry went to the water's edge and raised his wand.

"LUMOS!" he called out. His holly wand lit up the cavern. Harry could see the sunken boat begin to rise. A light shone on a column placed on a rock that broke the surface some distance across the water.

Harry put his wand to his throat.

"Regulus Arcturus Black!" sounded out, bounced off the back of the cave, and returned. The enchanted boat beached itself on the rock for boarding and Harry put Marcella in, motioning for her to sit. He stepped in and kicked off with his trailing foot. The boat directed itself to the rocky isle.

"Regulus Arcturus Black!" Harry called out again. The echo dislodged some loose rocks overhead. They struck the surface of the lake a little distance away, the ripples spreading, just visible in the minimal light.

Marcella sat quietly. She might have been resigned to her fate, execution or torture or something she couldn't imagine. Harry doubted it. The Bergs were survivors. They hadn't become evil all at once. They interacted with an environment. They found a way to stay alive high in the mountains, distrusted and reviled by the people down below, people who had no idea what it took to fight nature and their fellow humans all the time.

The Bergs cultivated isolation, fetishized it, kept their ancient language alive to speak among themselves, all to stay off others' agendas for conquest. Their survival strategy led them down some curious paths. They developed unique perspectives and took positions on things the outside world could never accept. Eventually their adaptations made them unassimilable. They knew they would never be able to explain their ways, even to other magicals. Better to stay hidden, to stay at Our Place, strictly observing the iron laws that ensured the survival of the Berg family.

The boat creaked when it touched the rock. All was as Harry remembered. The column, the basin, the shell for drinking. Harry stepped onto the rock and pulled Marcella ashore. He was alert, vibrating, any slip would mean death, then he'd be no good to anyone. Harry looked in the basin. It was full of liquid. Was it the same potion? Was Voldemort's magic still working, trying to protect Salazar Slytherin's locket? Faces, dead faces, were floating up just beneath the surface of the lake.

Harry touched the tip of his little finger to the surface of the liquid in the basin. He raised his finger to his nose and sniffed. There was a scent, of something. The liquid wasn't water. He touched his fingertip to his tongue. Dangerous, but he had to be sure. Harry gagged immediately. He flashed on his last trip to the cave, saw Dumbledore's face again, the kindly headmaster gone and replaced by the face of a soul in Hell. What commitment, to drink the potion from the basin to get to the horror at the bottom. It was never pleasant when Harry awoke in the middle of the night, because in the dreams he was always reliving the terrors of his youth. The dream of the cave and the rocky isle and Dumbledore's face was the worst.

Harry reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out the cube that contained the shrunken, petrified Dieter Berg. Dropping the cube into the potion-filled basin, Harry turned to Marcella.

"Madam Marcella, the figure inside the cube may be of help, if you work together to get back to your mountain. If you are successful, please go back and never leave. The world outside is closed to you. Do you understand? Never set foot in Britain again. If you return to Your Place, I won't come hunting for you or your family, as long as you stay there," Harry said.

An infieri stepped onto the rock.

"Were you Regulus Arcturus Black when you lived?" Harry asked, keeping his wand ready to blast the infieri back into the lake if necessary.

The thing nodded once.

"Would you like to rejoin your brother, Sirius? I believe I know a way," Harry said.

The infieri nodded again.

"Get in," Harry said, waving toward the enchanted boat. The two of them were conveyed back to the entrance. Harry looked back at the little island, keeping his eyes on Marcella as they moved across the surface of the lake. She began by reaching into the basin, removing her hand to find it empty, reaching in again, with the same result, reaching…

"I thought I told you to stay outside," said Harry. Of course the witches had come inside. Who knew when they'd be back? It was unrealistic to expect witches to miss something like the boat, the lake, the infieri. Mr. Traveler was missing and Romilda stood next to Pansy, so one of the witches had reversed Harry's transfiguration.

"This is the late Regulus Black, who would be Lord Black now if he hadn't been the subject of some very unfortunate magic. Regulus, these are Pansy and Romilda."

The rock opening had closed but Harry's wounded hand was still weeping so another touch and the rock parted as before. Harry walked straight to the mouth of the cave and motioned for Regulus.

"Kreacher!" he called. A moment passed. Harry stared at the breakers hitting the rocks, wondering why watching waves never got old.

Kreacher popped into existence.

"Let's sit," said Harry. He sat on a flat spot on a boulder at the mouth of the cave, waving Kreacher toward a similar outcrop across the opening from Harry.

"The thing you see is an infieri, do you know what those are?" Harry asked.

"Yes, master, you told Kreacher once that Master Regulus became an infieri," Kreacher said.

"Yes indeed, very good, Kreacher," said Harry. "This is the cave where you last saw Master Regulus. This infieri says that he was your master when he lived. Can you look him over carefully? Can you tell, by sight or with elf magic, if that is true?"

"Kreacher will look," croaked the old elf. Harry watched as Kreacher inspected the infieri, looking for some clue that would tell him definitively, one way or the other, if this was Regulus, the Black Heir he was meant to serve.

Slowly, slowly, the infieri raised his hand. His dead eyes stared at Kreacher. They were dead, but just the same, it was apparent the eyes were seeing. Hand held out, the infieri looked down, then back at Kreacher.

"Master Regulus' ring!" Kreacher shouted. "He wears Master Regulus' signet ring."

Harry looked and saw that the infieri's hand did have a ring, a junior version of Lord Black's signet, which Harry was wearing on his left hand. Harry swept his hand through the air to get rid of some of the blood, then held his hand out so Regulus could see the Black crest on his ring.

"Right," said Harry. "Here is what I want you to do. Please take Master Regulus home to #12. Make him comfortable somewhere. The basement, I think, he'll feel secure there. I will be getting in touch with someone about doing things properly for Master Regulus."

Harry had no idea if it was possible to do things properly for a reanimated corpse, but he had one idea that he was sure would work, as long as small minds and bureaucracy didn't get in his way.

"Understand?" Harry asked. Kreacher nodded, took Regulus' infieri in hand and disapparated.


	15. Chapter 15

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Fifteen

A Series of Improvisations

Harry still had two witches on his hands, one of whom had incurred the wrath of an entire principality, the other an innocent, at fault only for being a loyal retainer of Harry James Potter. Well, loyalty, to work at all, must work both ways. Harry needed a solution to the immediate security problem. He still thought the holiday caravan village in Blackpool was perfect camouflage. A week in Blackpool might be just the thing for calming down after all the London excitement. Furthermore, with Pansy and Romilda stashed in Blackpool, Harry and Daphne would be able to unpack all of Cyrus' financial entanglements without the distraction of Bergs looking over their shoulders. At least that was Harry's hope.

It was late, too late to pop into a holiday park and ask about accommodations, in Harry's view. He did know of a small magical guesthouse, though, where he could deposit the witches until morning, when they could go on to the park and see about rentals.

The owner of the guesthouse was Rosmerta's sister, and she wasn't a prude. Still, when Harry materialized on her sidewalk and came in with his bloody hand, trailing two witches, the lady had to ask:

"Mr. Potter, this isn't a party, is it?"

"Not at all," Harry assured her. "Some overnight accommodations, please. Two connecting rooms, if you have them. I realize it's the busy season. I'm prepared to pay the holiday rate."

"Oh, I have the rooms," said the landlady. "I don't pry into guests' business, either, within reason. It's just the noise. From so many, you see."

All three started to laugh. The landlady handed over the keys and waved at the stairs. The witches went up, while Harry stayed on the ground floor.

"Breakfast?" Harry asked. The witches stopped climbing.

"Seven, in the dining room," said the landlady, pointing at a large room with lots of windows, just through a double doorway from where they stood.

"I'll try to make it," Harry said. "Best not go out until I can join you."

"Mr. Potter…what?" tried the landlady.

"Nothing," said Harry. He leaned in for a bit of extra confidentiality. "An ex-husband, legal papers, I'm just getting a friend a little breathing room. To prepare, you see."

"Oh, those can get difficult," the landlady said with a nod. "Good luck. Was he a real piece of work?"

"Just for starters," Harry assured her. "I'll have to rely on your discretion, naturally, but, it gets worse."

"Oh, stick it to him, then," said the landlady. "Make him squirm."

"Well said, Madam," Harry nodded, "Well said. Am I hearing the voice of experience?"

Madam Rosmerta's sister just rolled her eyes, so Harry walked outside and disapparated from the top step.

"Thank-you, Kreacher," Harry said as Kreacher held open the door at #12 Grimmauld Place. "Now I think I need some dittany for this hand."

Harry went straight to the kitchen and held his hand under the tap over the sink. The bleeding started up again, but Harry let it go on for a bit. He wanted to make sure any trace of material from that cursed cave was gone from his person, inside or out. Harry knew he should take his hand to emergency at St. Mungo's but it was late, he was exhausted, and he really didn't want to deal with it right then.

When Harry thought he'd given everything a sufficient rinsing-out, he turned off the tap and shook the water and blood off his hand, wanded a clean cloth off a nearby shelf and laid his hand out on top of the cloth.

"Oh-oh," Harry thought. The edges of the slash across his palm were glowing. It was very subtle, but the edges of the cut had the same, pale greenish-blue glow he had seen in the cave.

"Kreacher, you can put the dittany away," said Harry. "I'm going out again."

He wrapped the towel around his palm and held on. The palm started to throb. Harry walked to the front step, visualized the emergency entrance to St. Mungo's, and disapparated.

When he got to St. Mungo's, Harry bumped into the magical medical bureaucracy.

"Just a form or two so we can get you properly evaluated, Mr. Potter," said the smiling wizard as he handed Harry a clipboard. Harry looked at the nametag pinned to the loose cotton pullover.

"Walter," it said. "Magical Medical Records"

Harry had lived a life, through no volition of his own, that filled volumes of magical medical records. He wondered if Walter knew where they were. He must have a file somewhere, he thought. Interesting reading, without a doubt. Harry nearly reached up and touched the place where his lightning bolt scar had been.

"Next of kin"

Harry sat, looking at the line. His hand hurt and he wanted the form-filling to be over. He didn't have any kin, strictly speaking, next-of or otherwise, so he saved time and improvised.

"Healer Daphne Greengrass," he wrote, for the first time.

Walter collected the clipboard, quill and completed forms and disappeared through a door, leaving Harry sitting on the waiting room sofa. He didn't have to wait very long.

"Mr. Potter?" asked a familiar voice.

Harry looked up to see Daphne standing by another door, dressed in a St. Mungo's uniform, waving him over with a clipboard.

Was it Harry's imagination or did Daphne give him a look as he passed by on his way to the treatment room?

"Harry Potter," Daphne said as she waved Harry toward a padded table. "Hop up? Good."

She sat down on a stool and began reading.

"Hand?" she said. Harry held out his hand. The towel wasn't excessively bloody.

"Looks worse than it is," Harry observed.

"Uh-huh, that's typical," said Daphne. She drew her wand, pointed it at the towel and levitated it across the treatment room and into a bin. Her wand picked up a green cloth on the way back, which Daphne dropped next to Harry's thigh.

"You can put it down there. Just let it rest on the drape," Daphne said. Staying away from the multiple slices on Harry's palm, Daphne moved the hand from side to side, using _lumos_ to put more light on the cuts.

"Can you turn it over?"

Harry lay his palm down on the green drape.

"Abrasions to dorsal aspect," said Daphne, making a note on the parchment. "Put it back, palm up, please."

"What did you get into?"

"A fight?" Harry answered.

"Do you want help or not?" asked Daphne. She didn't sound angry but she wasn't messing around, either.

"I grabbed for a wrist but got the knife. A dagger, actually. Two edges. The green stuff was in the cave. On the rocks. I didn't see it until just a little while ago, when I was washing my hand off at home. Can I put dittany on it and go get some sleep?"

"The green stuff is a luminescent algae that is going to eat your left hand," Daphne said. "Chomp. Chomp. Although, there is a potion that ought to stop, then reverse the damage, if you aren't busy doing something else. How important is your hand to you, in comparison to sleep? You choose."

"I could sit up a little longer, I suppose," Harry said.

"Oh," said Daphne. "I'd have bet you were going to choose sleep."

Daphne left the treatment room without another word and before long two men entered. They wore the same uniforms as Daphne. Harry couldn't tell if they were healers or some other kind of professional.

"We'll need to get that jacket from you, Mr. Potter," said one. He gave it a good looking over, especially the left sleeve.

"Not bad," he said, taking out his wand and casting some kind of spell. "Mr. Potter, was this transformed from another garment?"

"Yes, it started out as a cloak, then it needed to become…"

Harry didn't think a long explanation was needed.

"So it was a cloak," he said, finishing up.

The man with the jacket gave his wand another little flick and said '_finite_.' Harry's cloak was back. The man hung it on a coat tree.

Meanwhile, his colleague brought down a deep, white enamel vessel that Harry couldn't name. It was filled halfway to the top with water, then the water was heated with a charm and a cup of liquid added to the water. Green vapor poured over the edge of the pot and sank to the floor, eventually covering the entire treatment room, three or four inches deep. The vapor roiled when the men moved about, sending up tendrils that dissipated and sank back into the mass.

"Try not to breathe it in," advised one of the men.

"And just put the hand in, Mr. Potter," said the other man. "That's it, all the way down to the bottom. There can be contamination anyplace from your hand on up so we might just as well take care of it all at the same time. Comfortable?"

"Yes, thank-you," said Harry.

"You're going to be here with us for some time so if you have to change position, just call us. I'm Frank and this is Bill."

Harry was considering asking for Frank or Bill to bring him something to read when the treatment room door swung open and Daphne came in. She looked at Harry's hand in the solution. Frank and Bill stood still, alert for further orders. Some signal passed between the three that Harry didn't catch, and Bill went out, followed by Frank. Frank pulled the door completely closed, leaving Daphne and Harry alone.

"I saw what you wrote on your admission form," Daphne said, all of the officialdom gone from her voice.

"The prior sickness and injuries record? I always like the 'Other' box. It's such fun to write 'Bitten by Basilisk' because I get to visualize you healers' reaction."

"No, not the prior sickness and injuries, Harry Potter," Daphne said. "Your next of kin."

"Is that okay with you? I don't have any next of kin, so I had to improvise. You truly were the first person who came to mind," said Harry.

"It's fine," Daphne said. "Beyond fine. Use it whenever you need to. I'm not too busy to take on next of kin duties for you."

Daphne had watched to make sure Frank closed the door all the way when he and Bill left, so she felt it was time to demonstrate just how fine it was with her that Harry Potter wrote her name in as his next of kin. Looking straight into Harry's eyes, Daphne stood and stretched both arms out, over his shoulders, and kissed him on his lips. Then she drew her arms in, holding the back of Harry's neck in the crook of her right arm while she lay her left hand on the back of his head. She got his face in the position she wanted, in relation to hers, and used her tongue on his lips, darting in, asking wordlessly for him to open up to her, which Harry did, after which they spent a minute or two letting their tongues get to know one another.

"So, how's the hand feel?" Daphne asked, giggling a little, as she stood in front of Harry, her arms still resting on his shoulders.

"Hand?" asked Harry. He turned his head and looked at the potion in the big soaking vessel.

"Oh, you mean this hand? Feels great!"

"Good," Daphne said. "You're going to be keeping it there for a full hour. The potion isn't effective after that."

"You broke our rule," Harry said.

"What rule?" asked Daphne.

"Business first, personal later," said Harry.

"Harry Potter, you're my patient. How is your morale?" asked Daphne.

"Incredible. Over the moon," Harry replied.

"Excellent," said Daphne. "Patient morale is essential for rapid healing. Now, what in Merlin's name were you doing?"

"Ahhh…" Harry began. He knew he had to lay it all out for Daphne. He'd try for a short version. Ten minutes passed. Harry edited out leaving Marcella on the island in the cave with Dieter Berg and taking the late Regulus Black home to spend the night. That kept the story under fifteen minutes, which was an accomplishment.

"And this is all since you left Greengrass Manor?" asked Daphne, sounding a little incredulous.

"Yeah," said Harry. "I am going to have to get some sleep. I'm trying for breakfast at the guest house in Blackpool tomorrow morning because the plan is to move. Security, you know."

"Well I guess so," exclaimed Daphne. "When you've got an international hit squad on your trail…"

"I was wondering about something else, though," said Harry.

"What was that?"

"What are you doing here? I thought you had private patients and an office somewhere," Harry asked.

"I have the other practice, but there is a shortage of healers so I take about 20 hours a week in Emergency," said Daphne. "It's more of a give-back, although the money is worth just as much when I go to spend it. Why?"

"How will you find the time to take over the Greengrass family business affairs?" Harry asked.

"Oh, I've got that all worked out," smiled Daphne. "Cyrus sat down and opened up the books. They're a mess, just as we anticipated. Still, I have his ledgers, bank statements for last year and this, and his payment due file. As soon as my expert can make himself available, two to three hours ought to give us a complete picture of the Greengrass finances."

"Brilliant," said Harry. "Do I have to sleep here tonight?"

"No, when the hour is up, we'll rinse the hand thoroughly, apply dittany along with a wound-closing charm and you're good to go. Dittany three times daily and after each handwashing for the next two days, don't get in any more knife fights until the hand is fully healed, come back in at the first sign of incomplete cleansing and subsequent problems from the algae. Luckily for you, it announces its presence with an unworldly glow. Can you stay out of trouble long enough to accomplish all of that?"

"Thank-you, Daphne," Harry said. He looked at his left hand immersed in the potion, working it a little. "I owe you."

"I owe you, Harry," said Daphne. "Except we don't really owe the other one anything. That's the real meaning of how being next-of-kin works, isn't it?"

She gave him a wink before slipping out the door.

Harry's next few hours were as frantic as the previous day had been, but much less dangerous. Returning to #12 Grimmauld Place after his release, Harry checked on the condition of his infieri. Kreacher had made sure Regulus was comfortable in the basement. The actual dungeon still awaited a good cleaning, so Regulus occupied a cot in a room with shelves lining the walls. It was clear the room was used for storage at some point. Witches didn't typically spend a lot of time on home canning so Harry tried to avoid thinking about what Walburga stored on those shelves.

Harry slept from around one until close to seven a.m. He took a very quick shower and put on a muggle-style business suit of a good worsted wool. The fabric was tough and would stand up to abuse, should any come its way. Harry had also added some charms of a defensive nature that gave him a little additional protection from ambushes and other annoying local conditions. His Black family tie was where he'd tossed it on top of his dresser. It looked pretty good, considering it had been through everything with him since he'd left the office with Daphne the day before. He gave it a quick once-over cleanup with the wand, brightening it up and treating it to a nice ironing charm.

Harry called out to Kreacher to tell him he was leaving and took the floo to the guesthouse in Blackpool, stepping out into the lounge/front desk area precisely at seven. He didn't expect to see the landlady, necessarily, but was surprised to find the lounge deserted. Harry went on into the dining room.

Pansy and Romilda sat at a table with a view of the garden. They had coffee but nothing to eat. Harry walked over and said hello.

"May I?" he asked.

"Of course," the witches said in unison.

"How's the hand?" asked Pansy.

"Long story," said Harry. "It feels fine, now, but I had to go to St. Mungo's last night. That luminescent algae from the cave is dangerous. At least to wizards. My healer said it would eat my hand. Sorry, not before breakfast."

"Oh, that's fine, Harry," said Romilda. "You listened to everything I could throw at you and didn't flinch. It's the least I can do to return like for like. I'm glad you're going to be okay."

Pansy waved to a waiter.

"Hope you're ready to eat, because I am," she said.

When they'd ordered Harry motioned them to lean closer.

"Your landlady is Madam Rosmerta's sister, don't know if I told you," Harry began. "Our cover story is this is a piece of a messy divorce. The divorcee is avoiding a difficult husband for a few days."

"Oh, I can just see it," said Pansy. "Who's getting divorced?"

"I didn't say," Harry said. "We might want to maintain a bit of ambiguity."

Romilda and Pansy looked at one another, grinned and nodded.

"I'm liking this better all the time," said Pansy.

"Now, relocation," Harry began.

Except for the break in conversation when the waiter brought breakfast, the rest of the chitchat revolved around the positives and negatives of moving from the guesthouse to the caravan park, moving on from Blackpool altogether, and the capabilities of the Bergs.

"I thought about your in-laws last night while I was soaking in that potion," Harry said. "Dieter told me some 'family correspondents'—his words—advised they'd seen you near our office and that I probably knew your whereabouts. Any ideas on who those might be?"

"No," said Romilda. "Pansy was the only person I saw that I knew."

"Then there's Marcella, and her backup, at the hotel," said Harry.

"That took me by surprise, too," said Pansy. "How did they find you? Credit card? Runes?"

Harry looked back and forth between them.

"I don't have a credit card," said Romilda. "I was sixteen when my father sold me to Lorenzo. Too young for a credit card. He wouldn't have done the administration with Gringotts to get me one, anyway."

Romilda was caught up in a moment of recollection of extreme annoyance. Pansy was doing detective work. Harry was looking for the hole in their calculations.

"Romilda, I'm not asking just to pry into your private affairs, but what all did you bring with you from…from…"

"Our Place?" Romilda suggested. "Some pieces my late husband gave me. The diamond necklace. My wedding ring. Two broaches. Pearls. Two hair combs."

"That's all?" Harry asked.

Romilda nodded.

"It's all upstairs," she said. "Do you want to see it? We can go up."

"Pansy, hold on to the table," Harry said as he got up. "Show me."

"All of it, on the bed," Harry said as soon as the door was closed. "Quick. This might be important."

Romilda began pulling shrunken packages out of her rucksack, mostly from her shopping trips.

"Your stuff, from the house, don't worry about the other," said Harry. "Your ring! With the rest."

Romilda moved a little quicker. Last on the pile was her wedding ring, a thick gold band she pulled off and looked at a moment before tossing it with the rest.

Harry drew his wand and held it over Romilda's gifts. He moved left, then right, then turned the wand ninety degrees and went back and forth. Without a word he began throwing Romilda's treasures back in the rucksack which he slung over one shoulder.

"Get back to Pansy," Harry said. "You're sure this is everything? When you're done eating you should both come up here. Stay together. Don't leave this building. Wait for my instructions."

"Wow," said Romilda. "What did you pick up?"

"We'll talk about that," Harry said, "Just not right now."

Harry raised the window, stepped onto the sill, squeezed himself into the tightest ball he could manage and sprang out of the room. Romilda heard a little pop and leapt across to the window. She expected to see Harry flat on the ground, but there was no one there.

Harry materialized on the lawn before Potter Manor. He was in a real hurry but he managed to give the grass and border plantings a quick looking-over on the way to the front door. He really had to start paying more attention, he told himself. If Mort didn't want to do outside maintenance he was certain to know an elf who did. Maybe one who'd like to join the staff at a manor. Harry was beginning to think he might have a chance to fill another vacancy on the Potter Manor roster, but he was wary of getting too far out ahead of events. That way led to over-ambitious assumptions and great disappointment. Still, a little lawn care wouldn't hurt.

Harry went back through the steps of the day before. Once inside he kept going, skipping the salon and the portraits of all those powerful Potter, Peverell and Black witches and wizards. At the rear of the house was a small breakfast room. It faced east so it got a lot of sunlight. The portraits in the breakfast room had double layers of sheets, artist's canvas, actually, to keep the sun from shining on the paint. Harry went in, looked around, and put the ruck down on the table.

The sun was high enough that it no longer shone directly into the room but it was still very bright. Harry waved his wand at the three windows in turn, darkening them to cut down the amount of light getting in. Only then did he raise his wand and send the drapes off somewhere.

"Mum? Dad?" Harry asked, keeping his voice down. James Potter blinked and looked around, hand already patting the top of the desk at which he sat, trying to find his glasses.

"Harry! What brings you here?" James asked. "Lily, look who's come for…what time is it? Breakfast? Lunch?"

"Harry," Lily said, making it a statement. "Give me one. Or two."

Lily left her frame on some kind of just-woke-up errand. Harry wondered if portraits brushed their teeth first thing in the morning.

"What's up, son?" asked James. "You look a bit stressed."

"I am," said Harry. "A Hogwarts acquaintance has had a run of some pretty bad luck. Some people from Europe came after her. We've managed to get her to a safe haven and I think I know how they've been tracking her."

Lily came back into her frame.

"Okay, where are we?" she asked.

"Harry is helping out a Hogwarts friend who is on the run," said James.

"She's in a safe place, with Pansy, who you remember…"

"Oh, darn," said James.

"Shut up, James, please," said Lily, adding, "Darling."

"I figured out how they were tracking her," Harry said. "Something she was carrying with her is charmed."

Harry turned the rucksack upside down and let the jewelry and other items fall into a pile. He started spreading everything out on the breakfast table.

"Is that a wedding ring?" Lily asked. "That's what you're looking for."

"How do you know?" asked Harry.

"Glad you asked and not me," muttered James. Lily gave him a look but didn't say anything.

"Young woman, older man?" asked Lily.

"I'll say," answered Harry. "He had grandchildren older than her."

"It isn't so common anymore," said Lily, "But a century ago it was more or less assumed that a wizard, especially a wealthy one, would give his bride an enchanted wedding ring, so he could trace her if need be. I only learned about it after I got to Hogwarts. I either read it or one of the witches told me. Got your wand? Cast a _revelio_. See what happens."

Harry did as Lily suggested. The gold ring rattled on the table, just enough to make a little sound, then a kind of glow appeared above the ring, condensing into an image of an old man standing straight, dressed in a formal three-piece suit, white shirt and white bow tie.

"There you are," said Lily. "He's with her, wherever she goes."

Harry looked at the ring, then back and forth between his parent's portraits.

"Well I'll be," Harry said. "We learn something every day, don't we? Who thinks up this stuff?"

"So Harry, are we going to get the whole story?" asked James. "This looks like a Marauder-worthy operation."

"James!" exclaimed Lily. "If there are people following that ring, and Harry needs to get rid of it, we don't want to waste his time with chit-chat."

"Right," said James. "Lily is the smart one, Harry. Listen to her."

"Well, I don't know what he should do. Can you get it out of here? Far, far away?" asked Lily. "That is probably your best option. Do fox and hounds, going away from their real quarry with each jump."

"That's brilliant," said Harry. "I know just the place."

Leaving the rest of Romilda's haul on the table, Harry said good-bye to his parents' portraits, then re-installed their drapes. He let the windows return to normal. Harry considered putting the wedding band on one of his pinkies but decided to keep it in the rucksack. It might be necessary to do an emergency separation from the charmed ring and he didn't want to be trying to get the little thing off when time was important. While taking a final look around, a thought occurred and he cast a sticking charm on the table top. He was pretty sure he knew the counter-spell.

Dashing to the front door, Harry did a hurry-up job of re-nailing the planks, thinking all the while that his first priority, after he got Cyrus Greengrass stabilized and drove the wolf from his door, would be to spend some time on Potter Manor. He liked living in London but there were resources in Devon that he'd never have in the city. Besides, it would be handy for picnics, if he actually found someone who would accompany him to the country, and a manor house, for a picnic. Perhaps, before they went further, he should establish whether Daphne liked picnics.

Harry's first stop was the coast, Dartmouth, to be exact. He looked at the Channel and imagined apple orchards, stone homesteads and jewel-box Norman churches. Harry reappeared on the edge of an orchard, just across the road from a little Norman church. He resolved to come back to Normandy for some slow, serious tourism, just as soon as time allowed, before apparating on to Gibraltar. Then he went to Morocco, then on down the coast of west Africa, then inland. Harry had never been to Gao, although someone had once sent him a post card from there. He materialized at the airport, which had been the photo on one side of the card. Harry remembered the message on the back of the post card: "You've heard of Timbuktu? Well, Gao is beyond Timbuktu!"

The land around Gao, Mali, is flat. Even so, he could pick out some kind of hill or rock or some sort of feature a few miles outside of town and apparated over to it. Nothing at all there. It could have been a mirage, Harry thought. No matter.

Harry drew his wand and imagined an augur boring down into the desert. Before long he had a hole, two meters deep below the surface. In went Romilda's ring. Harry passed his wand over the rucksack. He cast _revelio_. Nothing showed up. He thought it over while he refilled the hole with the wedding band at the bottom. If there was a trace on the ruck, he didn't want to take it right back to England. Nor did he want to leave it there to mark the spot of the wedding band's resting place. There probably wasn't, but who really knew what the Bergs had discovered, up there at Our Place over two millennia? Subtle family magic was a distinct possibility, if not an actual probability.

Harry stepped back from the hole and checked his work. There was a little difference in the appearance of the hole and the surrounding area. A few sweeping motions with the wand had it uniform in no time.

Harry stopped next to a desert track on the way back to Gao. It was one of the routes that went here and there in the Sahara, used by everything from camels to semi-trailers. No one was around, but someone would be, in a day, or next year. After giving it one last looking-over, Harry dropped the rucksack. He hoped someone would find it who could put it to use. With luck it would be a long-haul trucker. Someone who'd keep it moving. Because one never knew.

With no need for further diversions, Harry disapparated and reappeared in Tangier. He stopped for something cold in a café with a spectacular view of the strait. He could have easily stayed for a few days. The first twenty-four hours would have been devoted to sleep and the next forty-eight to sitting on a shady terrace with a view. Still, he knew events didn't stay benign indefinitely, and he had two vulnerable witches stashed in Blackpool who were counting on him being back that day. Much as he hated to, Harry found a hidden spot and headed for England.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Acknowledgment**_: _Haven't taken note recently that all of this is written and published here with no claim of authorship nor expectation of gain in any form. The main characters and locations are either borrowed or derive from the Harry Potter canon by J.K Rowling_.

_**Author's Note**_: _Thank-you to readers who have taken the time to send or leave notes and messages. I appreciate your insights_.

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Sixteen

Dungeons—So Handy!

Harry knew he had to get to Potter Manor in the next day or two and give both of his parents a thorough de-briefing on his recent activities. James clearly wanted more information than Harry had time for. He also needed to think of some way to thank his mother properly for the tip on the wedding band. That was useful and might be useful again.

Then there was Romilda's jewelry. Eventually, Harry predicted, she would have to start disposing of it. One can live frugally but there are limits. Romilda had not completed her education so it would be difficult for her to find a job that paid very much. On the other hand, she'd been showing a knack for surviving and improvisation. Harry looked on those traits with great sympathy.

Harry didn't dither getting from Tangier to Blackpool. He made one intermediate stop in Paris, apparating to a spot behind Notre Dame, then venturing out to stroll through the bookstalls along the Seine. He stopped at one that belonged to a wizard acquaintance, spoke some French with the man, was teased mercilessly, and looked around for tails for fifteen minutes. His next stop was Blackpool.

The witches weren't in the public areas so Harry waved to the landlady and went upstairs. He knocked on the door where he had first looked over Romilda's hoard. It occurred to him that he did not know if the door to the right or the left was Pansy's.

No matter. Pansy opened the door, first a crack, then fully, to let Harry in.

"You can put the wand away," Pansy said when she closed the door.

"See anything?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Pansy and Romilda said together.

"Good," Harry said, then again, "Good. Now, Pansy didn't bring anything. Can we divide up Romilda's things and share the load? It's time we moved on. The disgruntled husband may come poking around."

Pansy and Romilda put everything Romilda had brought in three piles on the bed. Harry and Pansy drew their wands and soon had everything shrunk to a convenient size.

"Take a last look around," Harry said. "We're checking out. Pansy, anything in your room?"

"No," said Pansy. "I could stand a change of clothes, if there's a chance I could go by my flat."

"We'll get that sorted," said Harry. "Bear with me just a little longer."

Harry led the way downstairs, his wand held loosely under his right sleeve, ready to fight. They left the keys on the landlady's desk and went to the fireplace. Harry looked at the opening and wondered but it accommodated three adults, snugly, and seconds later they stepped out of the fireplace into the gloom of the salon at Potter Manor.

"Quiet!" Harry whispered as they exited. He was certain he had closed the door to the salon when he left with Daphne on his arm and Dieter in his pocket. He hadn't come in the salon that morning.

Standing still and listening, the three heard voices coming from down the hall.

"Romansh," Romilda mouthed.

Harry looked and saw Pansy was holding her wand. Harry shook his head, 'No.'

Harry pointed his wand and untied his shoes, then stepped out of them. Crossing to the open door, he stood and listened. Although he didn't understand Romansh he got the conversational tone and the two voices. Harry stepped out into the hall, walking down the tiled hall to the rear of the house and the breakfast room.

Pansy couldn't stand by while Harry went to face the intruders, so she stepped out of her flats and followed him down the hall. Just before she got to the breakfast room, Pansy heard him say, "Where is my wand?"

This was followed by two quick calls to "Stupefy."

By the time Pansy reached the breakfast room, Harry had two intruders propped up against the wall, both staring stupidly into space. Harry collected wands and patted his uninvited guests. Satisfied they were fully disarmed, he turned his head to the breakfast table. All the jewelry was there, still under the sticking charm. The men had been distracted, trying to pick the pieces up, when Harry surprised them.

"_Enervate_," said Harry, choosing one of the men at random and pointing his wand. "Explain yourself."

The man looked at his friend, who was propped up against the wall beside him, sporting a stupid expression on his face. No help there, it seemed.

"We came for her," said the man, a jerk of the head indicating Romilda.

"Do you recognize them?" asked Harry.

"Yes, everyone knew everyone," Romilda said. "I'll think of their names if you'll give me a moment. They weren't of the line the senior people came from. Their branch does support. Kitchens, maintenance. Slaughtering."

Pansy took in her breath suddenly, with an audible little gasp.

"How did you find your way here?" asked Harry.

"There is a trace. On something. It was here," the man answered.

"How did you get in? Are you in the habit of entering other people's dwellings without asking permission?" Harry demanded.

The man shrugged.

"It looked abandoned," he said.

"If you were to get Madam Berg under your control, what did you plan to do with her?"

"She has a home. She belongs there. Ask her, she knows," said the man, talking to Harry but keeping his eyes fixed on Romilda.

"Didn't her home reject her?"

"That is not for me to say," the man said.

Harry looked at Romilda.

"They take orders," Romilda said. "They don't make decisions. I'm surprised they got here on their own."

Harry knew he couldn't let the two go and have any hope they would not be right back on Romilda's trail, not to mention Pansy's and his own. He'd be justified in killing them, since they had invaded a wizard's home and were caught red handed. That was probably what the men expected. No one in Britain would pester him about it, if word leaked. Outright murder could trigger a feud with the Bergs, though. Harry had long term plans. There were things he wanted to accomplish. He had had enough of lifelong enemies, living every day knowing he might have to kill or be killed. He preferred to think about his goals and how he would achieve them, rather than how to avoid or better yet, ambush his foe.

"Rest assured, sir, magical Britain does not see Madam's situation as you do, or your family does," Harry said, addressing the man, who was still the only conscious member of the pair. "I want you to go home. It may take some time to make the arrangements for that. There will be difficulties, of course. We don't even know who to talk to, or how to contact them. You'll have to be patient. We will try to make you as comfortable as we can while you are our guest."

He turned to Pansy.

"Can you stand watch for just a couple of minutes?" he asked.

Pansy nodded, Yes.

"Stupefy!" said Harry, returning his prisoner to a passive state.

"Be right back," he said, then, "Romilda? I'll need you down here."

Romilda moved with Harry. She wondered what 'down here' meant but he'd been leading the way and keeping the Bergs away from her so she assumed he had something in mind to further their joint goals.

Harry opened a door and Romilda saw some steps leading down. A little twitch of Harry's wand lit up wall sconces. They got to a landing and Harry led the way to another flight of steps that went down into more gloom. There was another little wand motion and the sconces again lit for Harry.

"Take a look at this," Harry said. "Got your wand or did you have to leave it behind?"

Romilda lifted the tail of her blouse and Harry saw there was a sheath for a wand sewn into her skirt. He didn't see any need to wait.

"_Accio wand_!" he thought and caught Romilda's in his left hand.

"Harry! What? Merlin, Harry Potter, if you'd asked I'd have given it to you," said Romilda, almost shouting. "I'm getting creeped out now, Harry, I want Pansy back, now!"

"Be quiet and listen," Harry said. He didn't shout. He purposely kept his voice down, almost growling.

"I don't know what is going on, but it won't get sorted with me talking to you or those Bergs with the others present. I want to believe your story, Romilda, I really do, but we will take this step by step. Reconcile yourself to a little inconvenience. I suppose some uncertainty is inevitable, too. Now I'm going to pat you down. Just so I don't have to stupefy you."

Satisfied Romilda didn't have more magical artifacts on her, Harry opened a barred door. He took Romilda's upper arm and invited her to enter, then he closed and locked the ordinary lock before silently passing his wand before the door.

"What have you got here, Potter?" asked Romilda, a bit of stress apparent in her voice. "You have a dungeon? Do you use it for what I suspect you use it for?"

"Not yet," said Harry.

"Can't you afford a proper stasis cell? This is like something they show the tourists in the Tower," said Romilda.

"Well, the house is really old, you see…" Harry said as he crossed back to the stairs.

Two flights up, Pansy still had the two Bergs under her care. Harry strode into the breakfast room, straight to the table that held Romilda's haul from her late husband.

Harry unstuck the hoard with a 'finite,' then breathed a sigh of relief.

"I was afraid it was something complicated," he said. "I was wondering how we'd use the table again if I couldn't remember how to reverse the sticky spell. Now, I want you to go over each of these. Use everything you can think of, but I want to be certain none of these are enchanted. I still don't know if I believe that other piece was all it took to lead them here."

Pansy separated the jewelry, the hair combs and other pieces and went to work. When she was done she looked at Harry and shook her head. Harry took over, using all the revealing charms he knew.

When he finished, Harry agreed. "Nothing," he said. "Ready for a mid-morning?"

Pansy thought Romilda ought to be back.

"Romilda?" she asked.

"Downstairs," Harry said. "Witness protection. Kreacher!"

Kreacher appeared with a little popping sound.

"Kreacher is here, Master," Kreacher said. The elf looked around.

"Oh, Master is at Potter Manor!" Kreacher said. "Such powerful magic in this house."

Kreacher liked the magic at Potter Manor almost as much as he liked #12 Grimmauld Place. Kreacher told Harry once that the elves experienced magical households as a tactile phenomenon.

"I believe it is like the human feeling you call tingle," he had said.

"Kreacher, we need some food and beverages. How about a ham, cheese, tomato and chopped lettuce on a half baguette, for everyone? That is, five, I guess. And five butterbeers. Have you checked on Master Regulus?"

"Yes, Master, Master Regulus is comfortable in his room," said Kreacher.

"Do you get any sense of whether he is conscious, or thinking, or capable of anything?" Harry asked.

"No, Master," said Kreacher, his voice saturated with regret. "Master Regulus appears to be very dead to Kreacher."

"Sad," said Harry. "Well, Kreacher, I promise you I am working on a solution, along with everything else. I can't say anything just yet."

"Kreacher will return with your sandwiches, Master," said Kreacher. Harry sensed the subject of Regulus Black was still too painful for Kreacher to dwell upon.

"Right, then, while we wait," Harry said. He directed Pansy to search one of their guests while he searched the other. They removed coins, medallions, rings and belts from their prisoners and put everything on the table.

"Watch 'em?" asked Harry, then left and went down the tiled hallway without waiting for an answer. Harry went into the salon and got back into his shoes. He took down a trophy from the mantle, a great silver cup of James' for some quidditch accomplishment and returned to the breakfast room.

"Just so we're clear, what you're about to see is strictly between us, are you all right with that?" asked Harry.

"Absolutely," said Pansy.

Harry raised both hands above his head and sent the drapes over his parents' portraits away somewhere. James and Lily blinked in the light.

"Harry!" they said, more or less together. "Who's this?"

"Pansy Parkinson, a Hogwarts classmate, remember? I mentioned her when I was here before," said Harry. "Pansy, these are my parents. Lily Evans Potter, may I present Pansy Parkinson? James Potter, may I present Pansy Parkinson?"

Pansy stood there, jaw dropped, mouth open. She knew of James and Lily, of course. Everyone did. Still, they'd always seemed to be more legendary than real. Pansy had never, in her wildest imaginings, thought she would be introduced to the portraits of the heroes who had made the hero of heroes, her employer Harry Potter.

"Honored," Pansy managed, throwing in a curtsy for good measure.

"See if everything will go in the cup," Harry directed.

"The ring is in a remote location. If they find it, fine. It won't help anyone," said Harry. "Now, we have two people who were part of the team that chased us out of London. Pansy and I have taken all of their personal possessions, and their wands, and the odds and ends from Romilda that you already saw, and we're going to put it in this cup and put the cup in the garden. Just to see if there is anyone else nosing about. These two came here and broke in while no one was looking. They said they followed a trace on some object. Could have been the ring. Could have been something else."

"Did you look through all the rest?" Lily asked.

"Yes, without result," said Harry. Pansy nodded agreement.

"Anything else we should try?" asked Harry.

"If it's family magic," James began.

"Yes, James, it could take some very esoteric queries to get a useful answer, one way or the other," said Lily.

Harry nodded. "That's what I was thinking," he said. "So the cup goes to the garden, with some stickum, and we wait and see what wanders through."

"That could work," said James, looking over at Lily to see if she had an opinion.

"Give it a try," said Lily. "What are you going to do with your boarders?"

"Stash 'em downstairs until we sort this out," said Harry. "Guess I need to take care of that now."

Harry turned toward the two Bergs, who were still slumped against the wall.

"You've got that one," he said. "I'll be back."

Harry showed James that levicorpus, which James misused at Hogwarts, had an actual, useful purpose. Each of the Bergs got a single accommodation in the Potter Manor Dungeon. While Harry was finishing up, Kreacher came back with the sandwiches and butterbeer.

"Just in time," Harry said. "Come on along. You too, Pansy."

Harry led the way down to the dungeons.

"One sandwich and a butterbeer each, Kreacher," Harry said.

"Pansy, he locked me up!" wailed Romilda through the barred opening in the heavy wooden cell door.

"True, but he locked you up in his house, didn't he?" Pansy asked. "As opposed to an enchanted cave in a seaside cliff. Have a bite and relax. This will all get sorted."

Harry smiled his appreciation and led the way back upstairs. He wondered how long his stupefaction hex would last.


	17. Chapter 17

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Seventeen

His Usual Resourceful Self

"Early lunch," Harry declared when he and Pansy reached the breakfast room. "Want to wash up?"

"Thanks," said Pansy. She pulled a dagger out of a pocket in her robe, some of Harry's blood still showing on the blade.

"I picked it up when Marcella was out," Pansy explained.

Harry motioned for the dagger. Pansy handed it over.

"Wand this," Harry said, holding it out on his flat hand. "Everything you can think of."

Pansy's wand started vibrating as soon as it got close to the dagger.

"_Revelio_," said Pansy. "Something."

"Nothing to see, though," said Harry. "In the cup. No, wait, Kreacher!"

"Kreacher is here, Master," said the elf.

"Be careful with this dagger, but I need it well-scrubbed, then bring it back," Harry said before observing, "No need to give them a blood sample."

Harry turned back to Pansy.

"You know, I think that belongs to you now, if the same rule applies to daggers as wands."

Pansy looked disinterested.

"What's next?" she asked.

"Dagger in the cup, then the cup to the garden," said Harry. "Then we wait."

"For what?"

"For whatever or whomever wanders along," said Harry.

Kreacher returned with the dagger, freshly-washed and shining like new. Harry held it up and turned it over and over in the sunshine, looking for traces of blood. Satisfied there was nothing of himself left behind, he dropped the dagger in the cup and headed for the garden.

"Coming?" Harry asked.

"Of course," Pansy said.

Harry led the way out the back door of the manor. Looking at the overgrown condition, he thought again about exterior maintenance. He had to bring Mort and Daisy out, just as soon as all his other distractions calmed down.

"Here is good," Harry said, handing the cup to Pansy.

Harry leveled off some ground with his wand. Then he thought some crushed stone might look nice, so he conjured some and spread it in a circle. He was about to have Pansy put the cup down in the center when it occurred to him a column would add panache and really set off the cup. It was an athletic award, after all, and deserved a little respect. Harry conjured the base and a short Ionic column, ending about four feet above the crushed stone.

"There you go," he said, and Pansy placed the cup with all of the artifacts on top.

"What are you going to do about Romilda, Harry?" Pansy asked. "We can't just keep her in the dungeon."

"That's true," said Harry. "Let's see."

Harry applied a sticking charm to the base of the trophy, fixing it to the column. Then he tapped his wand to the two handles on the cup.

"That ought to slow them down, assuming there is anyone left to come looking. As for Romilda, does anything about Romilda, Marcella and Our Place strike you as out of sorts? Are there any unexplained threads running through that situation that make you think perhaps we don't have all we need to know? I'd really like to get at the truth, much as I'd also like to see Romilda safe and free of her pursuers."

"Actually," Pansy began, then stopped.

"Exactly," said Harry. "Just, what? That's it, isn't it?"

"I wonder if the Bergs know she's pregnant?" Pansy asked.

"Would that make Marcella even more determined to kill her? Jealousy over Derek fathering a child with another woman?" Harry asked.

"Could be," said Pansy.

"If the title and family leadership is handed down father to son, another son of the old baron could present a succession problem," said Harry. "Do you remember anything about the line of succession from your reading?"

"No, there isn't that level of detail in the references I checked," said Pansy. "That isn't to say there aren't some better sources somewhere, waiting to be found."

Harry stared out across the garden to the nearby fields. What was he missing?

Back in the breakfast room, Harry put two sandwiches and two butterbeers on opposite sides of the table and pulled out a chair for Pansy. He didn't think he would be getting to the bottom of the mystery of what he was missing by thinking about it until his brain overheated.

"Where did you learn that slick little punch?" Harry asked.

"You want to know where I learned to fight dirty?" Pansy asked right back.

Harry stopped chewing and stared at Pansy. That rabbit punch had kept intruding on his thoughts ever since Pansy's takedown of Marcella. Harry saw something in Pansy's face—he'd hit a nerve.

"Necessity, the mother of invention," said Pansy. "A paperweight to the side of one of your brother wizard's head. It was obviously very effective, so I wanted to know exactly what I'd done, in case I needed it again. As soon as I'd crawled out from under him and made my way back to civilization, it made sense to read up on details. Marcella was the first time I used it intentionally. Merlin help me, may it be the last."

Harry watched as Pansy took another bite of her sandwich and started to chew. He looked for signs of distress, but Pansy seemed to be fine with her dirty fighting and the defense she had mounted for Romilda and himself.

"Marcella pulling that knife and cutting people up was sufficient justification, in my view," said Pansy. She took a pull on her butterbeer, looking Harry straight in the eye.

"You don't hear me complaining," said Harry. "Look, there's something else I need to do."

Harry put his sandwich down and drew his wand. He took a moment to think, held his wand out in front of himself, and cast his patronus.

"Message for Hermione Granger," Harry said. "Hermione, I need to talk to you as soon as possible. Can you get back to me? I'm at Potter Manor."

The stag paused, as if it was waiting for further instructions, then pivoted and sprinted toward the garden.

"Do you have any ideas about getting your prisoners back to their valley?" Pansy asked.

"I do," said Harry. "Could you look at a map and point out a decent place to drop them off? Someplace they ought to recognize. Then they can get themselves on back home."

"Sure," said Pansy. "I'll do better if you give me an hour or two. Pop back to the Ministry, do a little reading in the library."

"Uh-huh," Harry said. "Go ahead, as soon as you're finished. I'll stay here and watch the cup."

Within a few minutes Pansy had left for London and Harry took a position before a window in the breakfast room. He kept the windows dim so his parents could sleep. They'd earned it. What's more, they kept earning it. Lily's very useful and expert advice saved him hours of work identifying the spell embedded in Romilda Vane Berg's wedding ring.

Harry could have used a nap himself, but he wanted to be alert if anyone apparated in to inspect the cup. He might have to react quickly, even if the charms worked as intended.

Harry's stag returned shortly after Pansy left, bringing a message from Hermione.

"Use the floo in the outer office, Harry. I'll be waiting."

"Convenient," thought Harry, crossing the hall from the breakfast room to a butler's pantry that had a small fireplace. In no time he had connected with Hermione at the Ministry.

"Can you come to Potter Manor? I'm a little tied up out here and there's something I need to discuss with you, soon," he said. Harry didn't want to get into more detail in a floo call, and it wasn't long before he heard the whoosh of someone arriving in the main salon.

"Out here," Harry shouted, reluctant to leave his observation post.

"Why all the Mister Mysterio?" Hermione asked when she arrived.

"Out there," Harry said, pointing at the garden. "There is a collection of artifacts in that cup. Some have enchantments, I'm not sure just what, but there could be a trace on one or more. I just want to watch and see if anyone shows up looking for one of the objects, or the owner."

"Got yourself into something, again?" Hermione asked.

"Just about done with it," Harry said, before adding, "I think."

"So, what did you want to talk about?"

Harry related a heavily-edited version of his visit to the cave, his invitation to Regulus Black to return to London, and the promise to let Regulus rejoin Sirius.

"Are you sure it is Regulus?" Hermione asked.

"Kreacher says it is," said Harry. "The infieri is wearing Regulus' signet, a smaller one of these."

He waved his hand, wiggling his fingers, to indicate Harry's own Black signet.

Hermione asked the logical follow-up.

"How are you going to get Regulus and Sirius back together?"

Harry laid out his idea.

"Harry, I don't know," said Hermione. "That is completely unknown territory. What if there were some untoward reaction? Catastrophic?"

"Anything is possible, but we both saw Sirius' last moments," said Harry. "Completely peaceful. Just stepping through."

Hermione sat, pinching her lower lip between her fingers, staring out into space.

"When?" she asked.

"As soon as possible," said Harry. "Tonight. Whenever things quiet down. Hermione, I'm prepared to do this on my own, but I doubt I could get there without your help. My access level isn't that high."

"I really don't know, Harry," said Hermione. "Still, you don't want to set off a ward and get caught with an infieri, on your own in the Department of Mysteries after hours. You might have to answer a question or two."

Hermione's style of humor, looping around to come to the punchline from the rear, always made her statements far funnier, to Harry, than she meant them. He was looking at her, laughing, when he heard the pop of someone's apparition, coming from the direction of the garden. Harry sprang to his feet, drawing his wand as he stood.

"Pansy," he said, opening up the door.

Pansy came in and saw Hermione. They'd never really warmed to one another, even after the final battle. The majority of witches and wizards shook the war off, some sooner than others. They resolved to make their magical community work, which meant everyone had to have a place and be welcome to contribute to the common enterprise. Pansy and Hermione observed the niceties. They just couldn't really like one another, and that was the truth.

"Hermione."

"Pansy."

"What a surprise," said Pansy.

"So nice to see you again," returned Hermione.

Both turned to Harry, as if to ask, "Get me out of this."

"Hermione and I were discussing Regulus," Harry began. "Did you get a destination in Switzerland, or Italy?"

Pansy looked at Hermione.

"It's fine," Harry said.

Pansy didn't look like she was very confident but Harry had given his permission so she went ahead.

"Two good spots, one on the Swiss side, one in Italy. Ramosch and Venosta. You really ought to look at a vacation over there, Harry. High valleys, snowy peaks, cuisine to die for."

"Just what I need," Harry said. "What's your preference?"

"Not a lot of difference. They ought to be able to navigate back home from either one," Pansy said.

Harry stared out at the garden. He caught himself in a reverie. Was he subconsciously willing a Berg, or a Berg minion, to materialize in the garden so he could capture them for some more interrogation?

"Let's go with the Swiss side," said Harry. "Two portkeys. Charge them to me. No, let's pay with galleons. Up front. Have you got enough in your till?"

"There ought to be enough," said Pansy. "When?"

"An hour after you get them," Harry said. "You'll have to come straight back."

Pansy looked at Harry, then Hermione, then back to Harry. She nodded and left for the salon, a stop at Potter and Associates and the magical travel agency in London.

Hermione looked at Harry, who looked back.

"Hermione?" Harry said.

"What was that all about?"

"I'm not going to say right this minute," said Harry. "Can I contact you when I'm ready to bring Regulus?"

"Why not?" asked Hermione. "If I don't go with you, you're liable to try breaking in and then you'll be obliged to answer those questions I mentioned."

"Great!" said Harry. "Hope to see you later this evening!"

When Hermione left Harry continued to watch the cup on the pedestal. The longer he sat the more strongly he believed he had all the available Berg minions downstairs in his collection. That would be the first break they'd had since Dieter showed up in Diagon Alley.


	18. Chapter 18

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Eighteen

Swiss Francs

A little over an hour later, Harry and Pansy had brought the two Bergs upstairs and out to the garden. They watched the time closely and kept the two under anti-mobility charms until just before the portkeys went active. Once the Bergs were safely off to Switzerland Harry brought Pansy with him to retrieve Romilda and escort her to the salon.

Romilda was miffed about her confinement, observing that if she had wanted to be locked up in a dungeon she could probably have achieved that at Our Place without all the extra trouble. Harry sat, patiently waiting for Romilda to wind down before getting on to the serious business.

Pansy went to the garden to unfix the cup with an '_incantatem finite_.'

"Use the coffee table," Harry said. Pansy turned the cup upside down and the contents poured out. Harry grabbed the wands and put them inside his jacket.

"The cup was on the mantle," said Harry, pointing. He turned back to Romilda.

"Have you given us all the pertinent information about the Bergs and your experience at Our Place, Romilda?" Harry began.

"Yes!" Romilda exclaimed. "What do you want, Harry? You saw how those people are. I barely got out of there alive."

"I've no reason to doubt that," said Harry. "I just want to ask you a few things, to fill in some blank spaces I don't really understand. Much as I want to help anyone in distress, there are people, innocent people, around me who could be hurt if something aimed at me went wild. Do we know everything we need to know about why they would have wanted you back so badly?"

Pansy sat, staring fixedly at Romilda, idly tapping her wand tip against the fingers of her left hand. She wasn't quite as convinced as Harry was that Romilda had withheld information, but there were certain facts that she couldn't explain.

"How did you shop, when you first got back to London?" Harry asked.

"I'd managed to put a little local currency aside, over the years," Romilda said. "I brought it with me."

Harry thought he had to give Romilda credit. She looked him straight in the eye when she said it.

"That was generous of your husband," said Harry. "You wouldn't have had a job that paid a salary, I don't suppose."

"Lorenzo was generous," Romilda replied.

"How much was your allowance?" asked Harry.

"I don't know," Romilda said. "Adequate."

"What does the baron's wife use money for, at Our Place?"

"Oh, anything, pin money," said Romilda. "Tips. Harry what is this? Are you an auror? Do I get a lawyer? I'm not the criminal here."

"Romilda, I'm not an auror," Harry said. "You don't need a lawyer, as far as I can tell. It's just this…What is the Berg currency?"

"They don't have anything," said Romilda. "They use the local equivalent of galleons, sickels, and knuts."

"What for?" Harry asked. "Up in their high valley, avoiding contact with the outside. I can see if they were conservative about cash. Very little coming in, they'd be careful about their spending."

Romilda's face changed. She had been puzzling over where Harry was going, and now she knew. Harry reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment.

"You made a stop before you went shopping," Harry said. "I was thinking you had pawned a piece of jewelry, something your baron had given you as a gift, to get a little shopping and walking-around money. You left this in your rucksack. I ditched it, in an appropriate location, after being very careful to search for charms or anything physical that could be traced back to me, Pansy, you, anyone or any place you'd stopped to see before you got here."

"I earned that!" Romilda shouted. "They'd have killed me! If not Derek then Marcella. You saw what she tried to do to me. She practically cost you a hand, Harry Potter."

"True," said Harry. "What I don't understand, though, is why you kept this from us?"

Harry handed the parchment to Pansy. It was a receipt from Gringotts for currency exchange.

"Forty-eight thousand Swiss francs?" said Pansy.

"It's not that much in galleons," said Romilda. "A start, that's all. I'm going to have to find something to do. Lorenzo never locked anything up. That was in his desk drawer. I had a legitimate fear for my life. I had been there for years, keeping my husband's back warm at night. No education. I'm eleven or twelve weeks along. I'm…"

Romilda ran out of words. She sat, silent, staring at the floor.

"Can I throw myself on your mercy, Harry?" Romilda sighed. "Until the baby is born?"

Harry took a moment, collecting his thoughts and leaving Romilda to hers. He was determined to come up with a humane way forward but was stumped as to what that might be.

"Romilda, is there anything you left out?" Harry asked. "I have to know it all. Pansy won't turn you in. If we don't know the whole story it could mean disaster later on because we didn't prepare, out of ignorance. Derek? Marcella? The old baron?"

"Derek forced himself on me twice," said Romilda. "The first time Marcella really did watch and abuse me. The second time was when I escaped. I told the truth about that."

"Did you kill your husband?" Harry asked.

"NO!" Romilda shouted. "I really did like Lorenzo, eventually. He treated me decently, like I was a human being. The others just saw an outsider. They're blindly prejudiced and hostile. The women, especially. There were two or three of the younger ones who would actually talk to me, as a person. One of them said I had to understand that, of course, the family just naturally saw me as Lorenzo's property, a slave and a concubine, something like a spoiled dog to amuse and distract the old man as Death approached. I'm convinced she truly believed she was being kind and gentle in the way she told me the truth."

"The baby?"

"Lorenzo's, I think," said Romilda. "The last time he and I…If I had a calendar I might be able to reconstruct the timing. I'm not an expert on that. My education stopped at fifteen. It's a wonder I know how babies get started."

"Oh, Romilda," said Pansy, starting to laugh. "Sorry, but what a predicament!"

"I know, don't feel bad," Romilda said. "If it were anyone else I'd laugh too. How does this happen to someone?"

Romilda's eyes filled up and she needed some sniffing and eye-corner-dabbing to get back to normal.

"Do you want the money, Harry?" Romilda asked. "You can have it. I'll figure something out."

"Stop," said Harry. "I don't need the money nor do I want it. If the Bergs have enough sense to follow the money it leads to right here, now, anyway, doesn't it? I want it as far away from here as possible. How'd the baron put a little cushion like that together, in the first place?"

"They're inbred Romans mixed with whatever native villagers were there two thousand years ago," said Romilda. "That doesn't make all of them stupid. They own some land lower down, it's mostly rented pasture and cropland, but they also own some acreage on the mountains around. In winter those are some of the most famous ski runs in the world. The rent goes through a couple of corporations. I don't understand it, but the arrangement keeps the Bergs out of it. The people in the middle are well-compensated. When he was lucid, Lorenzo used to tell me, 'Always pay your insurance premiums on time, Romilda, insurance is a bargain, believe me.' Then he would chuckle. He meant the middlemen. They were the key to the whole thing. He let me see what he had in his bottom drawer. That might have been intentional. There's no way of knowing, of course."

"Of course," said Harry. "Why don't we agree among ourselves that it was, intentional, I mean? Lorenzo couldn't come right out and give it to you, could he? It would have been a burden to you, having to think up ways to conceal it from the pack. So, he just let you see it was there. If you could get to it and slip away, when his time came, he would make sure his little survivor had enough to get a start somewhere else."

Romilda sat, head lowered, with her hand held over her eyes, like a sun visor.

"Did you tell your husband about your suspicions? That you might be pregnant?" Harry asked.

"Harry that is personal!" Romilda shot back, obviously insulted by the intrusion.

"True," said Harry, "And now you've dropped in on us after a number of years away and needed help and you brought your in-laws down upon us and all we want to do is find a way to get you out of the immediate danger and formulate a longer-term plan so you can get the privacy and the support you need to get through your pregnancy and give your child the best chance possible, so you are going to answer all of my questions, do you understand? Because half-truths just won't do, not in these circumstances. So, once again, did you discuss your condition with Lorenzo?"

"No, by the time I noticed I was overdue enough to think about it, he wasn't really there anymore," said Romilda.

"Did you discuss your condition with anyone who might have a suspicion there is another member of the ruling family on the way?" Harry asked.

"No," said Romilda.

Harry bore on.

"Who did your laundry?"

"Elves," said Romilda. "A lot like our house elves."

"Would the laundry elf have reported to anyone? Marcella, for example?"

Romilda puffed her cheeks and blew her breath out between pursed lips. She shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know," she said, a bit of genuine wonder in her voice, "It never occurred…"

"If the Bergs knew, would they try to get their kinsman back? Or kinswoman?"

"They might," said Romilda, then again, "They just might. Do you know if Dieter is alive? If Dieter is dead, a boy would be senior, even if Derek is the father. The next baron."

Harry felt a chill. He didn't know Romilda well enough to get the truth out of her tale, the gaps she'd sewn in, and the actual evasions. As far as he could establish, Romilda hadn't told an actual lie, she just told everything so it came out a certain way. Harry looked at Pansy, who sat still, studying Romilda. Pansy could become a sphinx. She'd just done, as a matter of fact.


	19. Chapter 19

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Nineteen

Resolutions, Half and Final

"Well, that's enough, I guess," said Harry. "Time is gold, as the goblins say. Where do you want to go, Romilda? What do you want to do?"

"Someplace quiet," said Romilda. "Out of the mainstream. Where it is unlikely the Bergs would look, or stumble across me by accident. I don't know enough to know what is best. I was so young when I was married off and went to Our Place."

"That's understandable," said Harry. "Now, listen carefully and tell me, do you have anything else that might be traceable? How about yourself? Did Lorenzo put a trace on you? Did he hand you off to a witch, perhaps, who could have hexed you or carried out some procedure you didn't understand at the time?"

"No, I don't know of anything I've got or anything they might have done to me that would put a trace on me," said Romilda.

"Fine," Harry said. "Just so you know, Romilda, we didn't have space on our To Do lists for this. We made space. Now we're going to take you at your word. Your part will be to go to ground and stay there. Get your things together."

Harry went to the fireplace and tossed in some floo powder.

"Leaky Cauldron," he said. "Hannah? Neville?"

"It's Neville, Harry," said a voice.

"Neville, do you have a room for the night?" Harry asked.

"Sure, how many?"

"Just a single," said Harry.

"Come on through," said Neville.

Harry looked at Pansy.

"Please go with Romilda, who will go up to her room and stay there until one of us comes to get her, right?"

The question was for Romilda, not Pansy.

Romilda nodded.

"Hannah can charge me," Harry said. "We'll minimize your time out of the room. Have your meals sent up. Conjure her a hat, Pansy. Something floppy."

Harry left the witches to get to it and went back to the breakfast room. James and Lily had gone back to sleep, so he left them alone and tried to use gentle motions to bring their drapes back and put them over the portraits' frames.

The witches were gone when Harry got back to the salon. He looked around for anything that needed to be put right, then headed out through the front door where he refastened the planks. Stopping at his usual apparition spot, Harry cast his patronus and gave it a message to take to Daphne.

"Harry here. I may be able meet you and look at your project materials later this evening, if you're free. Sometime after eight? If you can't I understand."

Harry got back to #12 Grimmauld Place and headed straight upstairs for a shower. He kept his head in the stream of water, trying to turn off thinking. Harry still had a feeling he was missing important information, but he was no closer to pinning down what exactly that was.

Out of the shower and kitted out in fresh clothes, Harry was still in his bedroom when his patronus returned.

"Can I come by the townhouse about 9?" said Daphne's voice.

Harry couldn't answer right away. The reality of seeing Daphne just because he said they would get together and discuss Greengrass business matters broke through. He'd have been better off tackling that project the next day. On the other hand, he was the one who'd proposed getting together to Daphne, and now she sounded eager, so Harry Potter was well and truly stuck with the result of his muddled thinking.

"Of course," Harry said, adding, "I'll be here."

Now he was in a vise. Harry hurried downstairs to the fireplace in the salon.

"Hermione, are you ready for us?" he said to the flames.

"Ready is an elastic term, Harry," Hermione replied. "You're welcome to come through."

"Just a couple of minutes," said Harry.

"Kreacher!"

Kreacher had Regulus upstairs and in the salon in considerably less than two minutes.

"Kreacher, we will be taking the floo to the Ministry," said Harry. "Are you ready?"

"Surely Master will be going, with Master Regulus?" Kreacher asked.

"No, we are all in this together. We all had a part," said Harry.

"Kreacher?" Hermione asked when Harry and party walked out of the floo at the Ministry.

"Madam Hermione," said Kreacher, bowing his nose-to-the-floor bow.

"And the late Regulus Arcturus Black," said Harry, nodding at their infieri companion.

"Very pleased…" Hermione began before she realized the error.

"He can't…" she began.

"We aren't sure just what," said Harry. "Of course, Regulus is dead, just reanimated. He did nod when I asked him. So, shall we be off?"

The few people still moving about in the Ministry recognized Hermione as an Unspeakable, assumed the infieri to be a familiar and something they wished they could un-see and most ducked down corridors or into restrooms at the first opportunity. Harry had been worried Regulus would attract undue attention. In the end, the infieri caused no problem at all. Hermione had them downstairs, standing before the Veil in minutes.

"Kreacher?" said Harry. "Anything to say?"

"Kreacher would like to say that Master Regulus was a fine, fine master, and Kreacher feels terrible about Master Regulus' tragic end and wishes him a peaceful slumber."

"That's a very creditable thought, Kreacher," nodded Harry. "Commendable. Very commendable."

"Regulus, when you encounter Sirius, give him my best regards, and tell him I miss him as much today as the day he died. He was a great wizard," Harry finished.

Regulus stood still, looking back and forth between Harry, Kreacher and the Veil. Then, with a final bow, Regulus turned and passed through the arch. Harry thought the volume of the voices coming from the other side went up as Regulus left them.

Something made a metallic sound just when Regulus crossed. Harry looked down and saw a ring. He bent over.

"Harry!" said Hermione. Harry stopped and stood upright.

"It's alright," he said, bending down again. Then, to himself alone: "Of course. _You can't take it with you._"

Harry picked up Regulus' Black signet. He stood, turning it over and over, looking at it from every angle. He couldn't sense any magic, Dark or otherwise. It seemed to be a ring, plain and simple.

"Kreacher," said Harry. "I will advise you strongly not to put this on your finger, because we can't be sure there is nothing about it that could cause harm, but I think you are the most appropriate custodian for this, perhaps with your other personal items."

Kreacher nodded. He hadn't spoken since his statement, his valedictory for Regulus.

Harry looked at Hermione, whose eyes were leaking a steady stream.

"Thank-you, Hermione," said Harry. "The Black family is in your debt."

Hermione escorted Harry and Kreacher back to the atrium, and the hearths that connected to the floo network. She stood there and watched them disappear in the green flames. She might not have been able to say exactly why but she felt better knowing they were gone.

Kreacher was very quiet at #12 Grimmauld Place. He disappeared for a few minutes, then sought out Harry and announced his return.

"Get the signet put away safely?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Master Harry, Kreacher is very grateful for such a keepsake," said the elf as he gave one of his deep bows.

"You know, Kreacher, I would like it if you would check in the storage areas and see if there are any portraits of Master Sirius and Master Regulus put away somewhere. It might be nice to see them as we go about our business here at #12," Harry said.

Kreacher brightened up immediately.

"Oh, and could I have a cup of tea? The green, I think," said Harry. "I'm going to read a bit and Miss Daphne may be coming by."

Harry went to the second drawing room, to his favorite chair, and picked up one of Bathilda Bagshot's magical histories. He managed to consume about half of his cup of green tea before he nodded off to sleep. Harry woke up in a confused state, not aware he had drifted off. Someone was standing next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Shh, shh," said a very solicitous, female voice. "It's me, Harry, it's me."

"Daphne," said Harry. "Oh, sorry, I just…waiting…went to sleep."

He reached up and laid his own hand on top of the one on his shoulder.

Daphne gave Harry a huge smile.

"It's fine, Kreacher took good care of me. You've got a real family retainer there, Harry Potter."

"I know," Harry said. "Thank-you for noticing. It's kind of ironic, considering our rocky start."

"Maybe he's an example for all of us. Ready to look at some Greengrass financials?"

Harry suggested they lay everything out on the dining table to make a literal and figurative overview easier. Daphne had shrunk everything to pocket size for running around. She put the miniatures out and set about restoring it all.

"Can you collect everything that is going out?" Harry asked as they got started. Daphne began a pile of invoices and checks for recurring payments.

"You can keep the payments to the goblins for the note on the manor separate," Harry said. "I'll just waive those for now, until you get Cyrus in a bit more solvent state."

They worked for an hour before Harry noticed they were both flagging.

"Long day?" he asked.

"Yes," said Daphne. "Tomorrow will be better. I have office hours, and that's it."

"Why don't you go home, then?" asked Harry. "This will all be here, just like it is. Kreacher will leave it alone, and I'm not throwing any dinners."

"Oh," said Daphne. "That's helpful. I guess I'll just be…"

They stood there, looking at one another, hesitant to embrace because it would make it so hard to keep to their plan. Someone had to move, though, or they'd be frozen in place all night. Harry opened up his arms, and Daphne stepped into them.

"Nice," Harry said, holding on, his lips an inch from Daphne's ear.

"Mm-hmm," said Daphne, letting her palm rub Harry's back. "I don't have to go."

"Of course," said Harry. "If I hadn't broken everything, years ago, we might have been…"

He thought about the end of his sentence.

"…going upstairs to our room right now," was the rest of it, the part he didn't say.

"We can't get distracted," said Harry, changing course a bit. "I meant what I told Cyrus. You're doing this because it's the right thing to do. We both know it's better to keep the business separated. Who knows, one of these days we may actually have joint business, what's that called?"

"Community property?" asked Daphne.

"It's nice to think about," Harry said. "We just don't need to get ahead of ourselves right now."

"Of course you're right," said Daphne, "But still. Fine, then, just one?"

"Shouldn't hurt," Harry said.

Daphne put both of her hands on Harry's face and kissed him, taking her time and doing a thorough job.

"Perfect," said Harry at the end.

"Thank-you," said Daphne. "G'Night."

"G'Night."

Harry climbed the stairs, thinking about his list of things he had to do the next day. He and Pansy had to find a solution to the Romilda housing problem. They might be done with the Bergs, but then again, they might not. Harry felt some responsibility for Romilda, just because he had taken all of her decision-making capacity away. If that was because of fast-changing events and the need to react to a situation requiring immediate action, he had still assumed a protective function. Events had simply spun out of anyone's ability to predict or control.

Harry still thought he was working with incomplete information. He conceded, in his internal dialog, that Romilda couldn't be expected to be naturally forthcoming. From the age of sixteen she had been betrayed by the people who should have been her protectors and thrown into an environment that demanded constant suspicion of others' motives, duplicity and concealment of her thoughts and actions. When she escaped her untenable situation her tormentors initiated an assassination plot. Harry knew about being young and under too much stress. The remarkable part might be that Romilda had not yet gone berserk and attacked Pansy or himself with an axe.

When Harry got up the next morning, he had his agenda filled in up to the point where Daphne finished her office hours and came to #12 Grimmauld Place to continue with their project to put some discipline into the Greengrass family's financial affairs.

He began with an early breakfast at home. The dining table was fully engaged with the Greengrass matter, so he went to the kitchen, where he found Kreacher pouring Harry's first cup of a very aromatic coffee.

"Smells delicious, Kreacher," said Harry as he sat down at the long wooden table.

Two small portraits stood on easels at either end.

"Master Sirius and Master Regulus?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Master, Madame Walburga commissioned them, I believe Master Sirius was fourteen and Master Regulus thirteen at the time."

"Good-looking young wizards," said Harry, eliciting very wide smiles from the two.

"And you're enchanted?" asked Harry. "Well, that's a bonus."

"Thank-you," said the wizards in unison.

"Harry, Regulus…" Sirius began before choking up.

"Portraits are paint and canvas," teased Harry. "You aren't going to try to cry, are you Sirius?"

This got laughs from both of the wizards.

"It was the least I could do, considering all that the Blacks have done for me," said Harry. "Even if it was accidental. Now, I was thinking of putting you guys over the dining table. Opposite sides of course, so you can easily keep an eye on one another."

"Oh, I thought we'd go back to our old rooms," said Sirius. "Familiar haunts. We'd be the familiars. And haunt!"

"That isn't even a good pun, Sirius," said Regulus.

"Are there any?" asked Sirius. "Good ones?"

The portraits traded jibes while Harry worked his way through fried eggs, toast and a glass of orange juice.

"We'll have to work on it later," Harry said as he stood. "Get some rest, you're not teenagers anymore. Kreacher, I've some things to do. Healer Daphne will be coming by to work with all that paper laid out on the dining table. If I'm not here you can take care of her until I get back, can't you?"

Of course Kreacher could. That was a dumb question.


	20. Chapter 20

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Twenty

Romilda, Briefly Examined

Harry's first stop was the Leaky Cauldron.

Despite Harry's admonition that they stay out of sight, Pansy and Romilda spotted him the instant he stepped out of the fireplace in the main room, waving him over to a small booth.

"Very low-profile," Harry noted as he walked up.

"Practically incognito," said Pansy.

"Do you really believe that?" Harry asked.

"No, but I do like to say the word," answered Pansy. "In-cog-NEE-to."

"Yes, just like Sofia Loren behind her sunglasses," Harry allowed. "Moving along then, you're finishing breakfast, I see."

Pansy and Romilda nodded.

"So we're ready to go?" asked Harry. He plowed on without waiting for an answer. "Ever been to Glasgow?"

Pansy started to answer before she noticed Harry was looking at Romilda.

"Never," Romilda said.

"Good," said Harry, "Because there is a magical village a short distance from Glasgow proper. I was there once shortly after the Battle. I expect we can get you a room where you can be genuinely incognito. Parkinson-level security. You really should stay inside most of the time, but a daily stroll for fresh air and exercise ought to be very low-risk. We'll use the next few days to come up with a solid alternative while you wait…for…the blessed event."

Pansy and Romilda couldn't help laughing at Harry's turns of phrase and fumbling-about.

"What a change," said Pansy, giving Harry a good looking-over. "Good night's sleep? Greengrass not keeping you up past bedtime?"

Harry toyed with the idea of formulating an explosive reply, but it was Pansy, and they'd long gone past him being annoyed with her highly-effective relationship radar.

"No," he said, thinking about the farewell at #12 just hours past. "No, definitely not that. Besides, Daphne is a much, oh, cooler personality, isn't she? She wouldn't fire up anything she couldn't tamp down."

Pansy held her tongue, somehow. She gave Harry a look that said she was onto him, though. He might fool everyone else, even himself, but he wouldn't fool Pansy Parkinson.

The village outside Glasgow was mostly wizards and witches, but not entirely. There were squibs who were integrated into the community. There was very little prejudice against people who couldn't use magic, so squibs tended to stay with their families until they had acquired the skills for self-sufficiency in the mundane world. There were even a few non-magical spouses in town, mysteriously tolerant of wands, spells and disapparations without forewarning. In other words, there was just enough oddity in the magical community for Romilda to check in, keep to herself, and not draw a lot of attention.

"One stop on the way, if you don't mind?" said Harry.

"Don't have a lot of choice, do I?" asked Romilda. "Thank-you for asking, though."

Harry took the witches to the alley and disapparated, rematerializing on the track that ran past Morag MacDougal's cottage.

"Harry, what?" said Pansy.

"Oh, I had an idea last night," said Harry. The way he said it made it sound as if he thought that a full explanation.

"Hullo, Morag!" Harry called out from a spot just across the stile.

Morag stepped out onto the stone slab just outside the door.

"Now what, Harry Potter?" she asked, not stepping off the stone.

Morag wore a long skirt, an undershirt with long sleeves, and a wool overshirt, the cuffs rolled up to the middle of her forearms.

"It sounded like Madam would like to see us again," said Harry. "According to your note, which we really appreciated, of course."

Morag smiled, despite making a visible effort not to.

"Come on in, then, I'll put off hexing you until next time," she said. Morag waited for the little party to cross the stile. Harry hoped that meant she was in a welcoming mood, because he was going to press a boundary or two in the next few minutes.

"I'll need a little time with Morag, alone," Harrry muttered to Pansy. "Maybe, without being too obvious, you could visit with Madam?"

Pansy had to limit her response to a nod as they were nearly to the front door, and Morag.

Introductions were an update for Morag on who Romilda was, and how she'd just returned from a stay in Europe.

"Well, I'd better get some water boiling," said Morag, stepping aside to let the group into the kitchen.

"Mother, someone's here to see you," Morag called out, adding, "You have visitors!"

She started putting out a teapot, a box of tea bags, and some very fragile-looking tea cups and saucers.

"Go on in, Pansy, she's been asking when you'd be back," Morag said.

Pansy took Romilda and crossed to the bedroom door.

"Madam Livia, it's Pansy! Remember? Of course you do! I've come to visit and I've brought my friends," said Pansy. The rest was muffled. Harry assumed she crossed the bedroom and was out of easy hearing range.

Harry took a couple of minutes with Morag, laying out a skeletal description of Romilda's situation.

"Humanitarian concerns aside, Harry Potter, this is highly irregular," Morag protested. "We need a proper setup, an examination room, an initial mother-baby check, follow-ups! There are facilities for that. She needs to get into the system. Even if she's been gone for a few years her childhood providers have records. There is a reason for all that, you know?"

"Yes, I do know," said Harry. "It's just that we have a situation. There were some people after her. There may still be. She hasn't seen a professional yet. Then there is a possibility of a trace."

"So why bring her to me?" asked Morag in an intense whisper that really wanted to be a shout.

"I don't have a choice, Morag," said Harry. "Just be a healer, and a witch, for thirty minutes, and tell us if she's pregnant, if she's in need of anything special for the next couple of months, and if there is any magic attached to her that we have to deal with."

After a pause for staring into one another's eyes, neither conceding an inch of ground, Harry added: "Of course I will personally resolve any security problems that may arise, Morag."

"Fine," said Morag with a long sigh. "Send her out."

Morag was already wanding the sturdy plank table clear when Harry got to the bedroom door.

"Madam Livia, hello!" Harry said. "How are you today?"

Morag did an exam, as thoroughly as she was able, given the conditions. She also took her time looking for any alien spells or hexes that might be clinging to Romilda.

"Can I borrow them, Mum?" Morag asked, just her head popped through the door into the bedroom. Pansy was on her knees next to the bed, holding Livia's good hand and listening to the stories of Livia's adventures with Pansy the Shetland pony. Livia wasn't quite ready to let Pansy go, pulling her close for a smacking kiss to the cheek and some back-patting.

"Bye-bye for now, Madam MacDougal, love you," said Pansy.

The old lady looked at Pansy and waved. She took her time, letting the words come out at their own speed.

"Love you, Pans. Love you, Pans," she said, as clear as day.

Pansy ducked her head to make sure she kept her tears invisible to Livia and crossed the room to the door. Once she was back in the kitchen end of the cottage she rushed to Morag and pulled her into a crushing embrace, sobbing into Morag's wool overshirt.

"She's a saint," Pansy repeated, three or four times. "A saint."

Morag, the healer with hyper-developed empathy, let Pansy recover before she separated herself. She looked Pansy in the face and nodded in agreement.

"Yes, Pansy, she is," she said. "Now, shall we?"

Morag served tea while everyone found a place to stand or sit before she took up business.

"I have discussed my physical exam findings with my patient, and am bound by confidentiality as to the results. She understands my concerns about regular visits with a healer of her choice, and it is now up to her to make her own decisions about what she wants to do. You do not have to do anything for her immediately," Morag began. She looked at Romilda and the two smiled, back and forth.

"And thank-you, Morag, for seeing me, and thank-you Harry, and Pansy, for improvising and making me come today. I won't let this become a waste of your time. I promise," said Romilda.

"Magic," said Morag. "Something we can all talk about, since we would all be concerned with the answer to that, wouldn't we, Harry? I didn't detect anything in or around Romilda, hex, jinx, spell, nothing. Still, you should be careful. I only know what I know. Should an adversary have used something outside my training and experience, I'd be oblivious. That is true of everyone, isn't it? You might want to look for a detection manual, if you don't already own one. The magical bookstores have them. Where are you headed?"

"Glasgow," said Harry. It wasn't true, technically, but it served the purpose and preserved a little ambiguity.

"There's a branch of Flourish and Blotts there," Morag said. "They've even got a little café attached."

All agreed that was a delightful circumstance, one that bore further exploration.

"I'd like to try Glasgow, to stay, Harry," said Romilda.

"Oh?" asked Harry. They were nearing the stile.

"Yes," Romilda said. "It will be easier to blend. There will be more than one hotel, so I can move, three days here, four days there. I need to catch my breath."

"I understand," said Harry. "You should consider the caravan village."

"I'll do that," said Romilda.

"Need us to come along?" asked Pansy.

"I need one or both of you to get me to Glasgow, to the wizarding neighborhood," answered Romilda. "Then, I think you should go. So you don't know, don't you think? Oh, and I'll need my wand."

Harry, luckily enough, did put Romilda's wand in his pocket that morning, so he was able to hand it over. After everyone called out thanks to Morag once more, the party recrossed the stile and stood on the track across the fence.

"Let's go, then," Harry said, holding out his arms for the witches.

Getting Romilda settled proved easy enough. Harry headed back to London while Pansy stayed behind to find Flourish and Blotts and buy the magical detection manual Morag recommended. Pansy's errand kept her in Glasgow another hour, then she followed Harry.

"Come on in," Harry called out to Pansy when she returned to the office. He turned around after closing his safe and dropped a canvas bag of coins on the desk.

"What's that?" Pansy asked.

"How is your advance holding out? Didn't you have to dip into it a few days ago?" Harry asked.

"Oh, that's right," Pansy said.

"Did you get the book? Did you pay for that?"

Sorting out the advance and replenishing Pansy's funds took a few minutes. It wasn't complicated. In between accounting for expenditures and counting out coins to make Pansy whole, Harry and Pansy went over their adventures since Romilda's return from the magical Alpine principality.

"Think we're done?" Pansy asked at one point.

Harry didn't answer right away.

"I want to say yes," he began. "But I have no evidence to support it."

"Exactly," said Pansy. "Glad you made her take off her ring. What did you do with it?"

"It's in a trackless wilderness," said Harry. "About two meters below the surface. Even if a Berg finds the spot, they probably won't find the ring. If they get the ring, they'll be standing there, looking around, not another person or habitation to be seen. Maybe a tent."

"Wow, creative!" said Pansy. "Or possibly diabolical, depending on one's perspective."

"What do you think?" asked Harry. "Does Romilda appear to be finding her place in the woodwork?"

"Hard to say," Pansy answered. "It isn't just Romilda, is it? There's her young laird, or lairdess, to consider. Romilda might be able to find a safe retreat and tend to her own knitting. Maybe find a witch or two, if she craves a little community. I'd still recommend the village. The youngster, if we presume it can work magic, will need proper nurturing, a magical education, too."

Harry didn't say anything, but he was thinking while he counted.

"We've had some direct experience with what happens when a magical orphan doesn't get the right support early on," Harry mused. "Well, then, are we even?"

Pansy raked the coins together and put them in a canvas bag.

"If we're not, it's close enough," she said. "Let me deposit this."

Pansy left with the bag. Harry heard the distinctive metal scraping sound as the file cabinet in Pansy's office opened and closed. A moment later, Pansy returned to Harry's doorway.

"We're stuck with her, aren't we?" she asked as she stood, half in and half outside the office.

"Send her an owl, now and then," said Harry. "Morag, too. We have to think about Morag and Livia. They are in a vulnerable position, it appears to me."


	21. Chapter 21

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Twenty-One

Dinner, No Business

Harry had two real estate matters pending. One was the acquisition of the new building and the administration necessary to make it the first asset in Harry and Neville's joint holdings. The other was what he thought of as his do-gooder, give-back project to help Daphne work out Cyrus Greengrass' fry-up of the Greengrass family's finances.

The deal with Neville would proceed step by step and no steps were clamoring for immediate attention. Pansy was back in her own office so Harry poked his head in this time and informed her he was leaving for the day.

"Take the rest of the day, if you like," Harry said. "That way you won't be here if any more Romildas or Bergs come calling."

Pansy rolled her eyes.

"Great idea," she said. "I'll close up as soon as I've got everything put away."

Harry went straight back to #12 Grimmauld Place, dashed some water on his face and headed for the dining room table. He was reading invoices, comparing them with Cyrus' ledger and putting them in order when he heard Kreacher at the front door.

"Healer Daphne, welcome back," Kreacher croaked, the pitch changing as he spoke. Harry guessed that was due to the deep bow in progress.

"May I take your cloak, Healer Daphne? It will be right here in the closet…"

Moments later, Daphne was standing next to Harry at the dining table.

"So?" she began.

"I just got here, not very long before you," Harry said. "So far, I'm thinking our joint opinion from the other night holds. There's nothing here that can't be fixed. Your father, forgive me, Daphne, this might sound a bit harsh, your father doesn't seem to know what he is doing. The manor breaks even, or nearly so. You'd have to live somewhere in any case so breaking even is good enough because it relieves the family of the need to either buy something or rent. The dividends from butterbeer seem to be going up, not a lot every year, but it is steady. You are independent, leaving the cost of living for three adults. What is he doing with the money?"

"What do you want to do?" Daphne asked. "What's the way forward?"

"Let's start with the receivables," Harry began.

An hour later they had established that Cyrus had enough coming in to get out from under his debts in about two years, as long as he didn't borrow more. Harry proposed a number for the Greengrass family allowance. Daphne proposed a little higher number. Harry asked if Harry Potter holding the note on Greengrass Manor in perpetuity was part of Daphne's workout plan. Daphne turned red and her eyes got very sparkly.

"Oh, Daphne, I'm so sorry, that was uncalled for," Harry said. "It was mean of me. I apologize."

"This won't work…I shouldn't have asked…I'm a grownup…I should have done this myself…" Daphne burbled. "This is too much to ask of you."

"Can I just," Harry began, moving a little closer. "We're working hard. It's just the stress."

Harry lifted his arms and touched Daphne, very tentatively, just above her elbows. Daphne leaned forward a bit, but didn't move her feet. Harry exercised, within his discretionary space, a little informed presumption and stepped toward Daphne until they were in contact from their shoulders down to their knees.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I was wrong, I didn't mean for it to come out that way," Harry said. "You want your family to have a life while we do this. I know that."

The choppy breathing and shuddering slowed, then halted.

"Should we take a break?" Daphne asked, some subdued sniffs breaking through for punctuation. "Think about something to eat? I'll treat."

"Oh," Harry said. "Great idea. No business. No working dinner tonight. What do you want to eat?"

"Something from The Dragon? Anything at all at The Dragon," suggested Daphne, using the shortened version of the name of London's latest magical Asian fusion restaurant.

"Of course, that's perfect," said Harry. He began to loosen his arms, letting Daphne separate from him until their faces were not all that close, but close enough. Harry ran his hands down Daphne's arms, reaching, then holding onto both of her hands.

"I apologize," he said. Harry looked into Daphne's eyes. "I am truly, truly sorry. That was an impulsive thing to say, and I should have had better control."

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Daphne. "I ought to be able to handle something like that. You have every right to question what I suggested. It's your money paying off the goblins. Even if Cyrus is a grump, I know what you're doing for us. Mother does, too. We will never, ever forget this, Harry, believe me."

"Oh," Harry said. "Are we officially made-up, then?"

"If you want to be," said Daphne, cheerful enough to smile through her remaining tears.

"Good," said Harry. "Then, may I?"

"Of course, if you think it appropriate," said Daphne, closing her eyes.

The Dragon was filling up. Harry and Daphne got the last open table for two. It was tucked into a little cul-de-sac in some elaborate wooden carvings that stretched from floor to ceiling. The space was dimly lit by a single oil lamp beneath a red shade. Bronze censers sat beneath coils of incense smoke. The smoky, rosy light had a lovely effect as it shone on Daphne's pale skin.

"This was inspired," said Harry. "Thank-you for breaking me out."

"Oh, were you a captive?" Daphne asked.

"Only of my own egotism," Harry answered. "Your problem is interesting, compelling, I'd say. You know, of course, my own situation. My father was gone before he could bring me in on all of this, so I try to work on my own. The goblins are encouraging but their ethical restraints about getting involved in wizards' business can make them very indirect. Obscurantist, for anyone who doesn't know how to read them. Your project amounts to lessons, for me. _How To Be Head of a Magical House_. The problem is I'm getting personally engaged in the mechanics, which is your job. Your purview, I think is the term. You have a right to that, and I don't. You can take the lead and I'll let you know, in a polite, straightforward, non-sarcastic way if I have a perspective that I'd like to share."

Daphne looked like she wanted to burst out laughing, but Harry plowed ahead, all seriousness.

"To get to stick my nose into your family's affairs, as I'm sure you know, Daphne, is a rare privilege," Harry said. "This isn't theory. You've grabbed the reins from a sitting head of house. Then you invited me to look over your shoulder. I'm getting my mastery in magical business at very little cost."

"Harry, please," said Daphne, "You pawned your worldly estate to help us out. You're in hock to Gringotts. You're risking everything you've built up for the Greengrass family. As for owing, I'm still working over that scene in Potter Manor. Every family head in Britain would pay you a fortune to be let in on that."

"You haven't told anyone?" a startled Harry asked, a little pleading in his voice.

"Get serious," said Daphne. "What if the day comes when I…"

Daphne caught herself before saying, "…when I am mistress of Potter Manor."

Daphne looked at Harry. Harry had caught the gist. He took a guess about where Daphne was going.

"Look," he said, "Don't edit yourself. If you were going to say what I thought you were going to say, the same thing has crossed my mind. It's just that, ah…"

"We have to do the business before we do the other," Daphne said, finishing Harry's thought.

"I think it's for the best, don't you?" Harry asked. "An hour ago, I let the strain get to me and lashed out. You're just looking out for your family. As you should. They have first claim on you. Even if you are emancipated."

"Yes," Daphne answered. "But witches, at least those with unsettled life arrangements, have a bad habit of writing the story of their futures before they'd ought. Imagination run amok. I know this, intellectually, but I do it anyway."

"Why is that?" Harry asked.

"I really don't know," said Daphne. "I didn't have a lot of trouble disciplining my mind while I was working toward my qualifications as a healer. None of that bothers me during the work day when I'm seeing patients. Then I go to your place and start organizing family finances in your dining room, just you and me, and it all goes out the window."

"We will get to the point where we can take that seriously," said Harry. "I promise. Until then, no mixing, lest we end up with a tangled mess."

"None?" Daphne asked.

"Well, perhaps a bit of chaste snogging," said Harry.

"Chaste," said Daphne, "Snogging."

Harry nodded.

"Do you think we can get the family…"

Harry raised his hand and cut Daphne off.

"No business," he said. "I see a way forward. One more walk-through with you, just to make sure we think alike, and that part is over. Then you make your presentation to Cyrus and Cordelia. I'll be in the room, with my mouth shut, observing. You won't call on me unless you judge it is critical to success. I don't think my commenting on what amounts to internal family affairs would go over with Cyrus. It's my business, too, of course, but it will be better to leave that unsaid so you make the sale. Now, I'm done, because the food is here."

And so it was. Harry had a vegetable lo mein with tofu, Daphne had a green curry with chicken and every kind of vegetable imaginable. Harry served Daphne some of his before he took any for himself. Daphne returned the favor. Harry spooned a generous mound of white rice onto Daphne's plate, then put the remainder on his own. They picked up their chopsticks.

"_Bon apetit_, Lord Harry," said Daphne.

"Long life and happiness, Healer Daphne," returned Harry.

Dinner went on, then on some more, mostly in silence.

"How did you find your dinner, sir, and madam?"

Harry and Daphne leaned back in their seats, turning to face the server.

"Perfect," said Harry.

"Exquisite," said Daphne. She gave the server a wide smile, getting one in return.

An abacus appeared and was presented to Harry. Daphne intervened and the waiter held the abacus for her. Daphne drew her wand and held it over the abacus, whose knobs rearranged themselves in a series of staccato clicks and clacks. As far as Harry could determine, the abacus had nothing to do with billing. That was handled by a charm that made the abacus something like a portal for the information embedded in Daphne's wand, causing a transfer from her account at Gringotts to that of The Dragon. The atmospherics, though, were inspired.

Harry suggested leaving a little walk at the end of their disapparation, and Daphne agreed.

"We're around the corner and a one-block walk to the square," Harry said, in case Daphne was having trouble with the neighborhood.

"Wasn't sure," said Daphne. "You could have left a little bit longer to walk. I can stay out late."

"That's funny," Harry said. They stepped off, arm in arm, walking off dinner and enjoying the company.

"Harry, I need to ask something," said Daphne. "Pansy…"

"Pansy is an adult," Harry said. "She works for Potter and Associates. You're going to get around to the 'R' word, aren't you? That's ours. Employer-employee."

"No need to snap at me," said Daphne. She didn't snap back, exactly, but there were no soothing undertones.

"Understood," Harry said. "No offense meant. Pansy is an adult, fully-qualified witch, and a real help with the business. She is entitled to have custody of the details of her life. Take Pansy to lunch, Daphne. We aren't involved, not the way your approach indicates you're thinking. Pansy might be happy to confirm that. She might also think that is all you need to know. It's her life, though. Go to the source. She won't hex you for asking. At least I don't think so."

The silence hung over Daphne like a shroud. She didn't unlink her arm, though, and continued to match Harry's deliberate pace.

"Prying isn't a good characteristic for a healer, I'll admit," said Daphne. "Merlin forgive me, perhaps I let Laurent Selwyn put the idea in my head."

They got to the square, and Harry steered them left, the longer way around from their starting point. "Mind? It's lovely out tonight, and I am so enjoying your company," said Harry.

"No, I don't mind," said Daphne. "Can we talk business again?"

"Dinner is over," said Harry. "Why not?"

"I thought through everything while we were eating," Daphne began. "I don't see why we can't finish this with one more session with Father and Mother. The sooner the better. Tomorrow. Get it done."

"Give the word," said Harry. "I'll be there. Use your number for their allowance."

"No," said Daphne. "Although thank-you. Your number is much better. Shock value. If Father can give us six months with no more borrowing or juggling or buying into speculative enterprises, I will loosen up, a bit."

"Heard anything further on his correspondence with the Selwyns?"

"It must have happened because Mother was to have tea with Narcissa," said Daphne. "An initial conversation."

They arrived at #12 just as Kreacher opened the door.

"Tea, glass of wine, firewhisky?" Harry asked. "I didn't even think to ask if you wanted to go straight home from The Dragon. Guess I was enjoying it all too much to remember my manners."

"Tea, in the garden?" Daphne asked.

"Sure," said Harry. "Kreacher, you can handle that, can't you?"

Daphne kept her cloak, pulling it tight as they sat in the cool night air.

"Anything else going on that's interesting?" Daphne asked as Harry poured them each a cup.

"You know I'm partnering with your cousin Longbottom, don't you? We started a company to acquire and manage some magical properties," said Harry. "We're spreading the risk and preserving executive attention span. I have to tackle the manor, soon. It hasn't had an occupant onsite since that night at Godric's Hollow. You've had a cursory look at it. Lots of little things don't get done, and those add up, charms or not."

"And you're done with the Bergs?"

Harry puffed his cheeks as he blew out a deep breath through pursed lips.

"That's impossible to say," Harry answered. "They may blame me for their missing relatives. We'll have to wait and see what happens."

Harry looked at Daphne, whose face had gone hard. Her right hand lay in her lap, gripping her wand. Harry hadn't seen it come out.

"I know a few things, Harry," Daphne said. "I can help, if you want me to."

"Oh, I don't doubt you," Harry said. "There will be a time for that, I expect."


	22. Chapter 22

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Twenty-two

Necessary Business

Daphne left from the floo at #12 Grimmauld Place that evening. They didn't get as far as the chaste snogging Harry had proposed earlier. Neither brought it up, but both understood if they started, they'd probably just keep going, start the honeymoon early and have the mélange of unfinished business waiting for them in the aftermath. Then they'd have to sort out the business while taking care to segregate it from a blossoming romance that demanded obeisance from its subjects. Neither wanted that Merlin-awful mess, instincts notwithstanding.

Daphne found herself unable to give Harry her full attention when she was at #12 Grimmauld Place because of all the intrusive ideas about color palettes revolving around emerald green silk wallcoverings. When she forced her professional witch's mind to go on to another subject it insisted on coming up with stray thought fragments and phrases such as, "Mistress of Potter Manor."

Alone, later, and calmed down somewhat, they told themselves they were starting over and would have to repeat the stage of observing and getting to know the other and having frank discussions and walks and outings with friends, so they were sure they both wanted the same outcome. When they were together they focused on their agreement to finish the Greengrass business first before exploring a personal relationship. Trouble was, the contact over business was proving to be a perfectly viable substitute for what's generally considered dating.

Floo calls went back and forth the following day as Daphne worked in communications with Greengrass Manor and Potter and Associates between consultations with her patients. Daphne normally loved office hours. She missed them on days when her practice was closed. Those interactions were the primary reason she chose a career in healing. She embraced a personal commitment to focus only on her patients during office hours. At the same time, Daphne needed to tidy up Cyrus' mess. The two duties were in conflict.

Daphne had arranged her own emancipation because she had the means and the fighting spirit necessary to confront her father and outmaneuver him. Now she felt that she had taken care of herself by buying her way out while offering up Astoria as a substitute. Her feelings were just that, as there was no way to establish a chain of cause and effect. Still, emotions don't require facts for validation. The need to finish up her work on Cyrus' financial affairs drove Daphne forward.

Harry was sitting in his office with Neville, Pansy and Hannah Abbott Longbottom, toasting the new enterprise. Harry, Neville and Pansy had visited the new building with Mort and Daisy, inventoried the maintenance and remodeling needs and sorted them into categories. The current tenants were not overtly cantankerous, for magical types, and welcomed, cautiously, the new owners' attention. Harry explained they would be working on some building issues and begged the renters' indulgence while they carried out necessary repairs. Insisting he was doing it out of respect for the tenants and their need to plan, Harry noted that the improvements might be more than the business could provide for free, and that some reasonable rent increases might be necessary. Of course the amounts would derive from the cost of the improvements and would be amortized over a reasonable period of time.

Neville and Harry thought the visit went well, overall. No one wants to get the news of a rent increase, but the residents didn't show signs of shock. After talking things over with the tenants the party went down to the first floor business spaces, then on to the basement. Magical properties are obliged to comply with safety codes the same as non-magicals. Harry asked Mort for a thorough inspection, which wasn't all that complicated since the building had no electricity.

Back at the office, Neville, Hannah and Pansy kept coming up with ideas for magical businesses that might be interested in the ground floor commercial space. Pansy had tabled a proposal to recruit a soothsayer, or possibly a blacksmith to care for centaurs' hooves when they were interrupted.

"Potter and Associates?" said a voice from the fireplace. "It's Daphne Greengrass."

"Daphne!" said Harry. "Can you come through? We're all here."

The flames and concurrent rush of air made a sound like 'Whoo-eee!' and Daphne walked into Harry's office.

"Daphne!" said four people in unison.

"Gosh!" said Daphne, giving an involuntary glance toward her wristwatch. "Party?"

Daphne worked her way through Neville, Hannah and Pansy, then stood next to Harry, an arm around his back.

"Yup," said Neville. "We're christening a new enterprise. Firewhisky?"

He reached for a bottle that stood on Harry's desk. Daphne watched as Pansy pulled out the bottom drawer of a wooden file cabinet and removed a heavy crystal glass about four inches tall.

"Just one," said Pansy. "We know you can't get blotto."

"Are you?" asked Daphne.

"Water," said Pansy. "Just a hint of a freezing charm and a wedge of lemon."

"Then I'll have the same, if you'd do the honors," said Daphne. She turned and looked at the other three.

Neville put the bottle down, looked at Harry and shrugged.

"Probably a little early anyway," Harry said. "If we stop now it won't count as cultivating bad habits and dissolution."

"Agreed," said Neville.

Hannah stood, leaned over and kissed Neville on the cheek, hugged Pansy and moved on to the still-standing Daphne.

"Got to go," she said. "The place spins out of control without warning."

Good-byes followed her to the door, along with a promise from Neville to be along shortly.

Harry looked at Daphne, ready, it appeared, to receive any updates she wanted to convey.

"Ready to do a little business?" Daphne asked.

"Of course," said Harry. "I didn't think you'd be ready until tomorrow."

"Neither did I," Daphne said. "I just have to get this done. It's intruding on my professionalism."

"Can't get in the way of that," said Neville. He tipped up his glass and drained the last bit of liquid. Standing up, Neville reached for Daphne's left hand with his right, holding it loosely as they stood, nearly toe-to-toe.

"I know just enough to know you're doing a huge favor for Astoria," said Neville, just for Daphne. He gave her hand a squeeze, then stepped back, looked her in the eye and nodded, once.

"Harry, Pansy," Neville said, following in Hannah's footsteps.

"Can you give me ten minutes?" Harry asked. "Fresh shirt. Brush my teeth…"

"Sure," said Daphne.

"Great. I'll be back. We can leave from here," Harry said, stepping into the fireplace.

"Well," said Pansy, "You've certainly learned to make an entrance."

"Oh, I'll be so glad when this is over," Daphne said, a slight choke coming through. "What do you know about our little project?"

"Harry said he was helping you get an accounting problem sorted," said Pansy. "I admit I rely on the goblins for mine."

Daphne burst out laughing. When she regained control of herself she gave Pansy a sanitized, two-minute synopsis of the state of her father's mismanagement of the Greengrass family financials. She went on, perhaps a bit more than necessary, and told Pansy of Cyrus' opening negotiations with the Selwyns, intending to commit Astoria to a marriage she didn't want in return for an infusion of cash. If Pansy didn't need to know all those details, Daphne definitely needed to vent a little.

"Oh, Daphne, how horrid!" Pansy exclaimed. "How can these wizards keep doing this to us?"

"How can they do a lot of things to us?" asked Daphne.

Pansy set her jaw and looked away from Daphne.

"Pansy?" Daphne asked. "What? What did I say?"

"Not you," Pansy said. "Difficult memory, that's all."

"Oh," said Daphne. A light came on as she went back over their last exchanges. "Oh. Oh, Pansy, I didn't know, I swear. When? Can I help?"

"A long time ago," said Pansy. "I ought to be over it. Much worse things have happened to people, some of whom we knew. I'll tell you, but I'm not ready for it to be common knowledge just yet. I'll rely on your professionalism. And I'll stop if he comes back. Agreed?"

"Of course," said Daphne.

"I proposed betraying Harry, right in front of everyone, there in the Great Hall," Pansy said. "Remember?"

"Yes," Daphne said, breathed really, her voice barely audible.

"Professor McGonagall sent Slytherin down to the dungeons," Pansy went on. "Three Death Eaters came in, in the chaos right after the end, looking for some diversion. They must have thought Azkaban was their new home anyway, as soon as they were captured, so… I was outside the common room, no one else was close by right then. Vulnerable. One of them petrified me and they picked me up and took me straight into another room, laughing all the way. They closed the door. They laid me out on a big wooden table, enervated me, put their hands here and there. Got ready for their recreation."

"Oh, Pansy," said Daphne.

"No, no," Pansy said, "That's not how it went. Right after he settled things in the Great Hall, Harry and Kingsley Shacklebolt and the Order and Dumbledore's Army were all fanned out, going through the school, clearing spaces, looking for fugitives. He walked in on us and saw what was happening. He didn't say anything or use his wand. He just pointed. One count of three later and three Death Eaters had joined their lord. No curses, either. He just raised them up and slammed them hard into the flagstone floor, all by himself. With his finger, pointing, like I said, all accounts settled in full. I was still on the table, shaking. I couldn't control myself. Shock, according to Madame Pomfrey. They'd pulled my knickers off and thrown them across the room, so I willed myself to get up and went to get them. Harry said, 'No. Shake out your skirt. No one will see anything. These can never touch your skin again. I don't even want you seeing them.' Then he used _inflammare_. Nothing left."

Pansy took a moment while she kept an eye on the fireplace. Her voice became low, in pitch and volume.

"Harry asked, very sweetly, 'Did they?' I stopped blubbering enough to say, 'No. Thanks to you.' He told me to go to the dorm, get cleaned up and properly dressed and wait there. Blaise came for me later and took me away. All so much better than I deserved, of course."

"Pansy, that's…" Daphne tried. "But you recovered, it seems. You even work for Harry."

"He's not shagging me, Daphne," snapped Pansy. "We never have. He has never suggested it, nor has he once put a hand on me in a suggestive way. I know you've been wondering. It's all over your face."

Daphne turned bright red. She couldn't look at Pansy right away.

"Yes, I suppose," said Daphne. "The question kind of asks itself, doesn't it?"

"Hmmph. That's not the whole story," Pansy said. "It's not even the most important part. My family was no help afterwards. They had their own problems. I started drinking. Getting men to buy. Getting them to take me home with them at the end of the night. I didn't quite make it to the ranks of honest working girls but I was so darn close. One night, I was in a tight spot with a very aggressive wizard in a very sleazy magical pub. A real organized crime joint.

"Harry walked in, watched us for awhile, and evened up the odds. Took me home. Cleaned me up. Sat up in a chair while I got a good night's sleep in a safe place for the first time in months. Sat me down the next morning and gave me a good breakfast along with a good scolding. Told me lots of people had had it as bad, or worse than me, but it was a new day and they were putting their lives together. I could do the same, if I wasn't afraid of a little work. He made sure I found a meeting to attend. Got me some books. Paid for my room in a respectable hotel. He stayed with it when I wanted to quit."

Pansy stopped there. She looked at Daphne, straight into her eyes, assessing her classmate.

"That is, so, so…" said Daphne.

"Yes," said Pansy. "They were going to kill me at school, I have no doubt. A mask slipped. I recognized the face behind it. They couldn't have let me out of that room alive. Then I took my new life and tried to throw it away, until Harry got me out of a second mess. I betrayed a classmate who had never done me any kind of harm, tried to convince others to turn him over to the Dark Lord, and he saved my life, twice, in the space of a year."

Neither said anything, they just stared at the fireplace, each thinking her own thoughts.

The whooshing sound and flare of green flames announced Harry's arrival. Daphne and Pansy, out of habit, slipped their finger tips over the ends of their wands.

"Just me," Harry said, stumbling slightly as he exited the fireplace. "Are the Slytherin witches all caught up?"

"Oh, thoroughly," said Pansy. "Except for the report I'll need after your excursion."

Harry looked at Daphne.

"I don't know, Pansy," Harry said. "Daphne's very oversold on this whole idea of discretion. I don't know how she expects a witch or wizard to learn. Well, shall we?"

"Let's," said Daphne. Harry was headed toward the outer office and the door that opened into the lane, but Daphne dropped behind. She pulled Pansy into a hug, a long, almost-crushing hug.

"Go," said Pansy. "Take care of your business."

Harry didn't understand the historical context surrounding Daphne's parents at all but found the atmosphere so different from what it had been like on his earlier visit that he guessed Cyrus and Cordelia's interpersonal relationship had undergone some adjustments. Cordelia carried herself with a bit more force and confidence. She was not aggressive in her tone or body language, but she seemed assured, sober, in command, and happy to be there. Cyrus had lost the bluster. He smiled. He looked Harry in the eye when they shook hands. Outwardly he was much the same. The imperious air was gone. Harry didn't know if it would come back, eventually, but Cyrus seemed, for the present, to have accepted a measure of relegation.

The four of them sat down again. No one mentioned Astoria. Harry hoped that meant she wasn't going to be part of some harebrained, Cyrus-initiated contract. He had his own thoughts about what it could mean to marry into the Malfoys, but if that was what Astoria wanted, she might as well get it and see what she could make of the situation. It couldn't turn out much worse than being stuck with Laurent Selwyn.

Back in London, Harry had tried to build up Daphne's confidence and convince her the plan would be a huge success, and she was just the person to sell it to Cyrus and Cordelia.

"You do presentations all the time, to your healer colleagues," Harry said. "I know you all have conferences and write journal articles and make presentations. You aren't the only healer I know. Just do the same preparation you do for a conference, then walk your parents through what you want to do. I'll be there, but just as a reference. If you get a question you can't answer, give it to me."

Daphne stumbled around once or twice at the very beginning. She didn't have a lot of practice telling two strong-willed immediate family members of the older generation that she was taking over their lives, whether they liked it or not. Still, once she got into her presentation groove it did prove to be much the same as delivering a paper at a healers' conference.

"So, those are the main points," Daphne said, winding up to her conclusion. She had laid out the obligations, their normal living expenses, with the additional burden of payments going out every which way due to charging purchases and taking out loans. She went on to show how Harry's assumption of the mortgage relieved enough of the monthly burden to begin paying down debt immediately, as long as her parents did not overspend. Cyrus gasped when Daphne told them what their allowance would be. A look from Cordelia was sufficient to pinch off further comment from Cyrus.

"Harry?" said Cordelia when Daphne was done. She continued to look at the parchment Daphne had given her that summed up Daphne's budget plan for the next year.

"Nothing to add," said Harry. "Except, maybe, isn't she something?"

Cordelia laughed out loud. It was the first time she had done that in Harry's presence.

"She is that," said Cordelia. She turned her head, looking first at Daphne, then her husband.

"We can do this."

Cordelia kept her eyes on Cyrus, who hadn't spoken since his reaction to the allowance figure.

"What?" asked Cyrus

"I think I'd like to have your agreement, Cyrus," said Cordelia. "I said, we can do this."

"Sure, we can," said Cyrus. He didn't sound enthusiastic. Cordelia looked at him, her face set in a frozen neutrality. Harry tried not to interpret. Every couple that has been together awhile has an internal language largely alien to outsiders.

"Excellent," said Daphne. "So we're agreed?"

She glanced at Cyrus, a pro forma moment of eye contact, before moving on to Cordelia. Harry noticed their jaws clenched in a mother-and-daughter set. They looked formidable enough to him, although he couldn't read Cyrus' thoughts.

The rain had begun in earnest about half an hour before the end of Daphne's presentation. The light cast by the oil lamps died, perhaps two feet beyond the windows, so that outside it looked as if the entire world had been painted in a coating of coal dust. Harry looked over at Daphne, who had just finished returning her parchments to a pasteboard portfolio. Daphne raised her eyebrows.

"Anything?" she seemed to be asking.

Harry was ready to discuss dinner plans but he was completely at a loss for protocol in their present situation. On one hand, he would have liked to transition out of the difficult business of carrying out a coup on a sitting head of an ancient and noble family. Gathering for dinner at a neutral place, breaking bread and avoiding all talk of business would have felt to Harry like a natural thing to do. They might even find favor with Cyrus, who could see Harry in a less-sensitive context. On the other, Harry might be seen as the interloper Cyrus had already accused him of being, one who Cyrus suspected had seduced his daughter as the first step toward a hostile takeover the Greengrass family assets. In that case, picking up the tab for dinner would appear to be a case of the victor patronizing the rival he had just defeated. Harry definitely didn't want that.

Harry shrugged. Being patient and letting Daphne take the lead seemed indicated. Harry couldn't think of anything else right then.

"Questions?" asked Daphne, looking from Cordelia to Cyrus.

"Not from me," said Cordelia. "This looks well-thought-out and very practical. Cyrus?"

"It does look practical," Cyrus admitted. He sounded reluctant to continue. Perhaps he knew he should have gotten on top of his problems much earlier, but he hadn't. Perhaps he was as mystified by that fact as were the rest of his family.

"Astoria?" asked Daphne, moving along to another subject.

"Tea at Malfoy Manor," said Cordelia. "It's starting to look like she's staying for dinner."

"Oh," said Daphne. She had a little worry showing when she glanced over at Harry.

She had no reason to be concerned. Harry would explain later, but Daphne didn't know at the time that Harry and Draco had observed a truce since the conclusion of the Battle of Hogwarts. The reasons were multiple and tangled. The most important were that Draco had not betrayed Harry that night at Malfoy Manor, Narcissa had not betrayed him in the Forbidden Forest, and Harry had returned Draco's hawthorn wand after using it to kill Voldemort.

There was another complicating factor. Harry couldn't dwell on it, because he knew it would throw his and several other lives into unmoderated chaos, but he thought Narcissa Malfoy was incredibly sexy. Since the Forbidden Forest, Harry and Narcissa had found themselves alone, very briefly, on three occasions. Thank Merlin for the brevity of those moments. Harry had felt something strong pulling him toward Narcissa each time, as if he'd been slipped a love potion and had no control over his emotions. One time, Narcissa had touched his cheek with her hand, brushed the underside of her thumb across his lips and smiled. Harry studied her face, closely, during the limited time available. Inscrutable as Narcissa usually was, she appeared to Harry to be transmitting mixed feelings of affection and regret that they could not explore further. If she was, her emotions mirrored Harry's.

It all went back to the first hours after the battle. Harry participated in the sweep of the castle, during which he dispatched the Death Eaters who appeared to be taking turns with Pansy. He had just returned when Narcissa had found Harry in the crowd milling about the Great Hall. She walked straight to him, wrapped her arms around him directly in front of her son and husband, pressed her breasts into his chest, hard, put her lips right on his ear and whispered 'Thank-you,' over and over and over. Harry still remembered the scents, Narcissa's perfume mixed with her sweat. She was a noble woman in need of a bath and a few hours of extreme care at the hands of a skilled lady's-maid-elf, but Harry was a newly-minted warlord with his enemies' blood still wet and victories still fresh on his mind. He still felt a flush when the old feelings sneaked up on him. He still had dreams of Narcissa in the Great Hall. He dreamt of no one but himself, and Narcissa. He always hugged her, picked her up and sat her down on the end of one of the house tables. He stood between her thighs, put his nose in the hollow between her collarbone and the base of her neck and breathed in. He smelled Narcissa's sweat, perfume, and enemy blood. As he inhaled, he heard her name, sung, as if by the angels' choir. It sounded so sweet.

Harry understood she was thankful he had saved her only child, as well as getting the Dark Lord Voldemort out of her family's life and prospects, a positive outcome no matter what Justice eventually decided to do with her Death Eater husband. Of course she was grateful, if not to Harry, to the idea of the young champion who righted her world, and herself along with it, when that world was spinning completely out of her control.

Harry hadn't studied psychology but he didn't feel like he needed formal study to know that Narcissa's positive emotions toward him were all mixed up with gratitude for what he had done for her family and relief that she and her son, at least, would go on living. He also knew if he and Narcissa acted on lingering feelings of attraction it would blow both of their worlds sky-high. Thus he worked hard to stay on the most proper and correct terms with the elder Malfoys and lightened up a little with Draco. Still, it was Harry's opinion that everyone's best interests were served, when it was necessary for him to interact with a Malfoy, to maintain a respectful distance.

The time would come when Daphne would raise the history of the Malfoys and Harry Potter, Harry was sure. Harry resolved, not for the first time, to think that eventuality through, before the time came when he'd be forced to deal with it.

"Well, then, I guess we're done," said Daphne. Cyrus nodded, not really looking at any of the others. He was as glum as Daphne had ever seen him.

"You're taking the floo, surely?" asked Cordelia. "The rain is coming down in apocalyptical buckets."

"Yes, that's for the best," said Daphne. She motioned toward the door with her head, and Harry dutifully stepped off behind her, Cordelia trailing them both. Cyrus remained seated, staring straight ahead.

"Mother, you must keep an eye on him," Daphne muttered when they'd closed the door. "Don't let him get too far down in the dumps. This is not a big deal. Everyone can use a hand now and then."

"I'll do that," said Cordelia. "He's been slapped down. His self-image is damaged. He had an ego much bigger than his accomplishments could support, or justify, at least these last ten years. It never occurred to him that he was a not-bad quidditch player and he might have to put in a little effort if he wanted to become something more than that."

"How are _you_?" Daphne asked.

"You are asking about my…ahh…consumption, these last few days?" asked Cordelia.

"Yes, I am," said Daphne.

Cordelia looked at Harry.

"You can talk in front of Harry," said Daphne. "He's been all over the accounts. Sorted out the invoices. He can read."

Cordelia's mouth curled up on the right, a very rueful smile acknowledging the layered truth of Daphne's statement.

"The Paper Trail. I've cut down," said Cordelia. "No problems so far."

"That doesn't have a high probability of success, Mother, statistically speaking," Daphne observed. "You're free to give it a try. We'll talk."

"Yes," said Cordelia. "I'll hold you to your word, Daphne. We haven't had enough of that, for a long, long time."

"Good," said Daphne. "We'll leave you to it, then. Love you, Mum."

"I love you too, Daphne," said Cordelia. She put one arm lightly behind her daughter and the two leaned together.

"Harry, thank-you again, for everything," she said. Harry answered with a nod.

"Madam Cordelia," he said.


	23. Chapter 23

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Twenty-three

Plunge In

"Daph-Den."

"What?" asked Harry, taking his usual post-floo stumble into what he thought must be Daphne's flat.

Harry expected they'd discuss where they wanted to go for something to eat, but Daphne had put the portfolio with her parchments in one of his hands then taken the other and put it under her own arm. She led him into the fireplace and dropped her floo powder.

"Sorry," she said. Daphne flopped onto a sofa, straightened her legs to their full length, and let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

Harry studied Daphne's face. Her eyes were a little sparkly and her face had defined red splotches. She gave the impression, at rest, of being ready to jump out of her skin. Harry wondered if Daphne was about to cry.

"Daphne, what…did I?" Harry said, before he ran out of words, not to mention coherent thoughts.

"Oh, nothing," said Daphne. "Or, rather, it's something, but I'm not sure I can explain so anyone else can understand. Nothing to do with you. Our childhood, Astoria's and mine, was the stuff of fiction. My father was a sporting hero. Mother was a _Grand Dame_, to us little girls. She and the elves made the most perfect cookies for us. We served our friends tea and those cookies. Lots of days, Astoria and I had tea together, or with Mum, and she told us about balls and beautiful charms for this or that. Now, step by step, those layers of…of…STUFF…are being shaved off, one painful excision at a time. I had to buy my freedom, essentially, from my own father, whom I had believed was my champion. Then he got in deeper and deeper and tried to sell my sister, who has already found someone on her own, to a cad with family money. The whole thing is just, ah, ah, E-UGGGH! Mother is coming apart. She dug down and found the adult inside long enough to lay down the law for Father, but she's been drinking heavily for a long time. She won't get herself sober. Well, realistically, it's a bad bet, let's say."

"Okay," said Harry. "Change of subject: This is your place, I take it."

"Oh, yeah!" said Daphne. "You've never been here. I just had to get us someplace where I could break down in private, if that was what was going to happen. I assess the danger has passed. If you didn't notice, that was hard for me."

"I noticed you were completely on top of the business meeting. You had the facts, you made your points, you sold your remedy for the problem you were called in to resolve," Harry said. "Was it worth it?"

"YES!" said Daphne. "Do you really think it went that well?"

"Sure," said Harry. "You made the sale. You clinched the deal."

"I partnered up with Harry Potter," said Daphne. "You left that part out."

"Aw, shucks," said Harry. "You did all the work."

"Not relevant," said Daphne. "The point is we worked together. I don't mind saying I liked it. No one got mad or territorial. It was real teamwork, and fun, despite the seriousness of the problem."

"True," said Harry. His eyes locked on Daphne's. "I enjoyed it too."

Daphne looked back at Harry, taking her time studying his face.

"Are you hungry? Do you want to get something to eat, or just take a shower and go to bed?" she asked.

"Ah," said Harry.

"Do you have to think about it?" asked Daphne. Harry felt like her eyes were drilling into his.

"Let's eat first," said Harry. "Do you have anything here? Should I send for Kreacher? Do you want to go out? Someplace?"

Daphne smiled a slight, knowing smile.

"Kreacher," she called out.

Kreacher popped into the flat and gave both Harry and Daphne his lowest bow.

"Kreacher is here, Healer Daphne," said the elf.

"Lord Harry is ready for his dinner, as we discussed, Kreacher," Daphne said.

Kreacher smiled a very broad smile.

"As you wish, Healer Daphne," he said, and snapped his fingers.

Daphne's flat had a small table that sat at the center of the combined kitchen-dining space. With the snap of Kreacher's fingers, the table gained a red and white checked table cloth, two sets of plates, cups, saucers, glasses and silverware, a bowl of spaghetti and red sauce, another with a tossed green salad, a basket full of thick slices of bread and a little plate with a block of yellowish cheese and a small grater.

Two lit candles in crested silver candlesticks stood in the center of the table. Daphne waved a hand and the lighting, all candles and oil lamps, dropped to a very restful, intimate level.

"Want to wash up? There's a powder room just there," Daphne said, pointing.

Harry stepped in and closed the door. When he came back out, Daphne stood behind one of the chairs, which Harry noticed had been pulled out, waiting for him.

"Please," Daphne said, laying her hand on the back of the chair.

"Thank-you," said Harry, sliding in and raising himself up slightly so Daphne could push the chair forward.

"That's really my job," he said.

"But you're my guest," answered Daphne.

Daphne had changed out of her work clothes while Harry was getting ready to eat. She wore a gown of some gorgeous fabric that looked to Harry like silk. Two narrow bands emerged from behind her neck, widened out and plunged down across her torso, covered her breasts in an 'X' and continued on to her waist. Daphne's back and shoulders were bare. The fabric followed her form so closely it might have been part of her. There was no ornamentation anywhere, and detail was confined to a single narrow band of the same fabric at the waist. Harry probably should have kept his mouth shut, or confined his comment to a 'Thank-you.'

"Crimson," he said. "You have taste."

Daphne took her time answering. She pulled out her own chair and got herself seated.

"You haven't seen me in emerald green," she said.

"Kreacher, could you work some magic and give us each some spaghetti?" Harry asked.

"Do you like a little cheese with yours?" asked Daphne.

"I would like some, thank-you," said Harry.

Daphne picked up the little block of cheese and the grater and built a mound on the plate.

"Kreacher," Daphne said, handing the plate over and nodding toward Harry.

Dinner commenced, salad, spaghetti with freshly-grated cheese and plenty of Italian bread. Conversation was sparse. Daphne kept an eye on Harry. Harry concentrated on the dinner Daphne had arranged, commenting now and then on how appreciative he was of the time and trouble Daphne and Kreacher had put into the arrangement. Each compliment earned Harry a little smile and nod toward his end of the table.

When he'd finished, Harry looked at Daphne.

"Your china is exquisite," he said.

The china, silver- and glassware were all enameled, engraved or stamped with the Black family crest, complete with the motto: 'Toujours Pur.'

"You deserve the best," Daphne said. "Kreacher was extraordinarily accommodating. Well, he took one look at my stuff and insisted."

"Deserve it or not, it looks like I've got it," Harry replied.

"Harry," said Daphne, a little note of frustration coming through. "Life is so short, even for wizards. Go ahead and enjoy it a little."

"So true," Harry said. "Kreacher? Healer Daphne and I will be taking dessert a little later. Can you clear? I'll summon you if we need you again."

"Of course, master," said Kreacher, clearing the table and disappearing everything with a snap. "Kreacher will be at #12 Grimmauld Place, awaiting your orders."

With that, Kreacher popped out of the flat, leaving Harry and Daphne alone. Harry crossed to Daphne's chair and held out his hand. Daphne laid hers across Harry's and let him assist her to her feet. Harry's left hand held Daphne's right, and his own right arm found its way around Daphne's bare back. She took in a little breath at the touch of Harry's hand.

"Did I pass?" Harry asked. "I grasped the fact that I was under observation."

They were so close he whispered.

"Uh-huh. Outstandings, all 'round," said Daphne. "Did I?"

"Of course," said Harry. "If anything, you exceeded Outstanding."

"That isn't a category," Daphne reminded him.

"But it should be, just for you," declared Harry.

The gap between them, that had been narrowing, now closed completely, as the two embraced, cheeks together. Harry breathed in through his nose, resolving to commit the scent of his lover, for he had no doubt that now he and Daphne were, to the deepest and most secure level of his memory. He wanted everything about her imprinted somewhere, permanently, so he could recall her at will, for as long as they lived. Beyond, if possible.

"Shall we?" Daphne asked.

Someone had to move or they would just stand next to her dining table all night, holding one another. Harry knew he need not answer verbally. He dropped Daphne's hand, leaving his arm around her waist, so she turned to fall in alongside, raising her arm to cross over his as they walked down the hall.

Harry left his jacket and trousers on a chair in the bedroom and took himself to the shower.

"That should help," he said as he exited Daphne's small bath.

Daphne lay in bed, covered by the sheet. Harry could see her form, somewhat, in the ambient nighttime light that filtered in through the rain and the bedroom curtains.

"Suit yourself," said Daphne. "Just so you know, you didn't smell at all bad out there. Not to me."

Harry lifted the sheet and slid in. Daphne rolled toward him.

"We still have to get to know one another," Harry said, finding a few of Daphne's vertebrae with his thumb. "Better," he added.

"I agree, but this really can't be put off any longer," Daphne said. "The tension is just too much. My tolerance is at an end. Used up."

"You're sure you want to go ahead?" Harry asked.

"YES, and we're well past the point of pinching things off," Daphne replied.

"I…," Harry began, then stopped.

Daphne looked at him.

"Finish your sentence, Harry Potter," Daphne demanded. She made it clear she wasn't negotiating.

"I feel it, too," he said. "I had no idea. Before, I mean. Merlin help us."

Something in Harry's appeal to Merlin melted Daphne's hard edge from a moment before.

"You needed to do your thinking before you took me to Potter Manor, Harry," said Daphne. Her hand found its way to his cheek. She caressed his forehead with her thumb, down the side, across his temple. She went slowly, ending at his chin, cupping it in her soft healer's hand.

Whispering now: "That is where it started, in earnest. You might have been immune to Cordelia, and me. Once we faced Dieter together…"

"Oh, I know, I know," Harry said. "I read Bathilda Bagshot's book. My great-grandmother recognized you the moment her drape was removed. Your aura."

Daphne giggled.

"Seems silly, doesn't it? That's how it starts," she said. "It doesn't make any difference if we do things out of sequence, as long as we get it all done in the end. You won't be able to stop with Bathilda, though. That little book is really an overview. She couldn't cover everything."

They weren't talking about their physical desire, although there was an abundance of that in play. Lying there together, under the sheet, Harry felt the power of his family magic pushing him to Daphne. She felt the Greengrass magic pushing her to Harry. The two might be compatible, and they might not.

The problem for wizarding types was the magical attraction was detached and separate from personalities and could be real at the same time the results of fusing them could be extremely disadvantageous for the individuals. Those situations had a stereotypical analog among the muggles—the mismatched pair whose physical attraction was mutual, strong and real, who might truly and passionately love one another, while at the same time they had a basic difference in personalities that made them irretrievably incompatible. Those matches had a very low success rate.

One reason the custom of arranged marriages had emerged among magical folk was the strength of the inner family magic that was largely out of the witch or wizard's control. Individuals could work on directing the magic which couldn't be completely subdued. Studying a few experts' published works, Bathilda Bagshot for one, could be useful. Wise magical parents introduced the subject matter early, carefully cultivated their childrens' trust, taught them a few charms and spells to enhance self-control. The best results, under the old culture, emerged from a joint effort by two families who sought to mold a compatible couple who could face the world's trials together. If they were eventually mad for one another that was an added bonus.

The two magical wars had disrupted those folkways.

By the time Harry lay down next to Daphne, their family magic had already done a good bit of mutual exploration. Harry had brought Daphne to his family seat. There she was privileged to watch as Potter Manor and Harry's ancestors and the Potter family magic combined to give Dieter Berg a bit of comeuppance. Dieter directly threatened Daphne. Harry and the assets centered in Potter Manor defended Daphne from the invader. The Greengrass family magic approved and got out of the way of the affection Daphne already felt for Harry. Dorea Black Potter noticed right away that Daphne's aura said she was a promising candidate for a vacant position in the family—the demanding job of Mistress of Potter Manor.

"We could have used some parental coaching," Harry said.

"Just our luck," said Daphne. "Everything was thrown over at the time."

She meant Voldemort, the Death Eaters and the Wizarding Wars.

"The old ways had their good points," Harry said. "I wonder if our parents would have picked us out and taken us through the traditional course?"

"Somehow, Harry, right at this moment, I do not want to think about discovering you and Potter magic any way other than just the way it happened."

That evening she also felt the responses coming from the seat of her deepest emotions. Since the moment they entered the flat and all through dinner her Greengrass magic had been feeling stronger and stronger stirrings of affection and attachment for Potter, Black, Peverell and Potter Manor.

Harry, for his part, had taken in a good gulp of Greengrass as well. Despite the earlier failure of their attempt at dating, some residual connection came alive enough so that Daphne sought out Harry when she needed counsel for her family problems. Daphne's approach got Harry's attention. He was careful to let her take the lead and to work in tandem with Daphne, quietly risking his own resources, doing the family a service that entailed no benefit for himself. Something showed him the way to begin establishing rapport with Cordelia on his initial visit.

Cyrus was a puzzle. Harry couldn't understand his managerial incompetence, nor the cold heart that saw Daphne and Astoria as assets, fungible things to cleave off from the family like slates from the mother slab, to be taken to market and sold alongside the baskets of potatoes and mussels. That aside, the Greengrass magic felt like home to Harry. Each step brought him closer to Daphne and he began opening up to welcome her family magic. Cordelia's cordiality and warm words stayed with him long after he'd left Greengrass Manor. He'd smelled rosemary, that most homely herb, as she walked him out.

Even so, those exchanges were tentative, the magical analog of the beginnings of a natural affinity for any two compatible personalities in the mundane world. Tonight, Harry and Daphne stood on the edge of a cliff, naked, holding hands. The breakers crashed below them. When they threw themselves off together, gravity would take them to the water. The surf would pull them under, the waves and currents would twist them, push them to and fro, roll them together like a pair of socks, eventually throwing them up onto the wet beach, panting, blinking, emptied out, naked and newborn, looking around for their mate.

If the magic worked, that is what they would be, come morning. The process would not be complete. Far from it. They would not yet be half their own magic, half the other. To reach that point would take months of work, building an alliance of two, and two families, against the cruelty of the world and the whims of Fate. Even so, once they stepped off the cliff, the only way back would be through an excruciating process of extrication. Most witches and wizards who completed that journey felt the magical amputation for the rest of their lives, if they survived.

'YES,' Daphne had said. 'And we're well past the point…'

It sounded so matter of fact, so logical, that Harry instantly agreed. He nodded his head in the dark, as if Daphne needed the visible reassurance of his concurrence with her position on the matter. Harry lowered his head and kissed Daphne on her lips. Daphne would have flown into that kiss if space had allowed. Still, she made the most of what there was, pressing herself into her lover as if she believed in the next few hours she could dissolve her physical self into him. The roar in their ears had been loud, but now it gained strength with each heartbeat. Potter magic met Greengrass, everywhere flesh touched flesh, from their mouths to their toes. The magic met, mixed, swirled, and began to fuse.

"We need to get some sleep," said a rueful-sounding Harry. "Sometime."

He rolled aside and reached to the nightstand for his watch.

"Anywhere you just have to be?" challenged Daphne.

"It's after three," answered Harry.

"Anywhere you just have to be, later this morning?" Daphne persisted.

Harry was cornered. He didn't have an actual job, the way Daphne did. He pondered a number of responses.

"Well, then…," Daphne said. She pulled herself closer and pressed her face against Harry's neck, reaching out with just the tip of her tongue. She found his earlobe. Her lips showed up to help her tongue.

"We do seem to like the same things," observed Harry.

"So-o-o-o lucky that way," Daphne whispered.

They did sleep, eventually, rising late, but well before noon. Daphne invited Harry to share a shower, which Harry was pleased to accept.

"That was fun," he said. "I hope you don't mind my saying so."

"It's supposed to be fun," said Daphne. "Serious, too, of course."

"Of course."

Daphne stood with her back against the tiles, reaching around Harry and scrubbing his back with a very substantial sponge.

"Rinse," she said, dropping the sponge and putting her hands on his chest.

"Oh," Harry said, surprise getting past his consciousness and into his tone.

"Breakfast?" asked Daphne.

"Oh. Absolutely. Absolutely," said Harry, confirming for the second time a common cliché regarding male priorities.

"Can I treat?" Harry asked as he began drying off. "Breakfast at Grimmauld Place? I need to thank Kreacher for that meal last night. You might want to take the Black magic in small bites, at least at first. A breakfast here, tea there."

"So considerate," said Daphne. "Grimmauld Place it is."

"How did you get Kreacher to do all the work?" asked Harry.

"Promise you won't punish him," said Daphne.

"I'm not going to punish him," Harry said. "I'd just like to know how you got him to conspire with you."

Daphne pulled out a dresser drawer and started picking out underthings, throwing her choices on her bed.

"I had a thought," she said. "Perhaps, if I wanted to do something for you, something special, I would be able to summon Kreacher. So, I held the thought about doing something nice for his boss, and asked Kreacher to come. It worked. If he can come over here to the flat, it isn't a lot more work for him to bring a delicious, but simple, spaghetti dinner, is it?"

Harry thought it over.

"So you communicated with Kreacher across town and he could apparate into your flat? Just like that? It's got some of the usual wards and protective charms?"

"Uh-huh," said Daphne. "Impressed?"

"Oh sure," Harry said. He crossed to the bedside table and retrieved his watch. "Things had gotten further along than I realized, that's all. I guess that shouldn't be a problem. Ready?"

When they got to #12 Grimmauld Place, Harry led the way through the house to the garden, complimenting Kreacher all the way.

"Healer Daphne was so impressed with your skill, Kreacher," Harry said.

"Healer Daphne is very kind," Kreacher said, blushing everywhere.

"Your efficiency was praised as well," Harry went on.

"Kreacher does try, master," said the elf.

"The garden looks very nice this morning," Harry said. "If you don't want all the sun, there's the dining room, and the kitchen."

"Either one," said Daphne. "I do think we're a bit late. The sun is a little too high out here."

Harry led the way back inside.

"Oh, here we are," Harry said. "I think we've found our venue."

They stood in the dining room. Daphne looked around at the indigo drapes with their dark gray liners, the jumble of Black-crested ceramic pieces on shelves here and there, and the long, black dining table. The brass candelabra that hung from the ceiling held lots of candles but was the heaviest, most cumbersome design Daphne thought she had ever seen.

"Any particular reason you chose this cheery place?" Daphne asked.

"The company," Harry said. "Kreacher!"

"Kreacher is here…" said the elf.

"Master Sirius and Master Regulus are here! That's wonderful, Kreacher," Harry said.

"Thank-you, Master Harry," said Kreacher. "Would you like breakfast?"

"Healer Daphne?" asked Harry.

"Why not?" said Daphne.

Once settled, Daphne asked again about Harry's decision.

"Right up there," said Harry, gesturing toward the portraits. "My godfather, Sirius Black, who left me this house and some other things when he made me his heir. Across the way, Sirius' brother, Regulus, an unsung hero of the late war. Gentlemen, this is Healer Daphne."

The figures in the portraits began to move, and speak, with lots of overlapping sentiments of the 'Pleased to meet you' variety.

Harry leaned over to whisper to Daphne: "The portraits are in their teens, so, we have to make allowances."

Daphne didn't speak, confining her reply to a wink.

"We can hear you, Harry, so exercise a little discretion," said Sirius.

"Okay, sure, we're dead, but even so," said Regulus. "That doesn't mean we don't have feelings."

"I just know there are some interesting stories about you guys," said Daphne. She looked at Regulus' portrait, then Sirius' beaming all the while.

"Oh, wait until…" Sirius began.

"Although, we don't have to do everything at once," Harry said, interrupting Sirius. "Healer Daphne and I are studying family magic and I already advised her to limit her exposure to ours, at least initially. I do have a question, though. Are there more portraits of you around? I plan to get busy on the old Potter place and I'd feel better if I had at least one of you out there. It might be important in a critical situation."

"There are, or, there's at least one of me, somewhere," said Regulus. "It's in a closet or an attic or under a drape, though, or something. I've checked it a couple of times and I can never see anything."

"You too?" asked Sirius. "Same here, Harry. I've got a portrait that must be stored away somewhere. There is another one at Potter Manor, though, in the room your dad slept in when your grandparents were alive. Second floor in the back, on the right-hand side of the hallway. It isn't under a drape, or it's a darn sheer one if it is, but I can't see much. The window curtains are closed and the room is always dim, no matter how bright it is outside."

"Well, that gives me a couple of things I can work on," Harry said. "I take it you aren't going to the office, Healer Daphne?"

"No office hours," she said. "I'm going to be at St. Mungo's from three to eleven. I think I will ask for an evening alone tonight. For some reason I'm already thinking about falling into bed and going right to sleep."

"Brilliant," said Harry. "I'm thinking I'll be here. Just floo-call if you need anything."

"Do you have a library here, or at the manor?" asked Daphne.

"Both," said Harry. "I can't vouch for the quality of the collection."

"If I may, I'd suggest you do something about that. Take a look and see what you've got, besides the Bagshot, on the theory of family magic," Daphne said. "How about your family grimoires? Have you ever gotten into them?"

"Barely more than leafing through," said Harry. "Some of it is excruciatingly slow-going."

"Understood," Daphne said. She took a sip of coffee.

"Mmm…Excellent coffee this morning, Kreacher," she called out, trying to project across the hall and down the few steps to the kitchen.

"Eventually we'll work our way through those," Daphne went on. "Unless we hit sections that bar one of us. Those are supposed to be very rare. Generally speaking, we need enough familiarity with both that we can spot problems before they become problems."

"We'll expect some timely comment if you see anything like that emerging, gentlemen," Harry said to Sirius' and Regulus' portraits.

"Oh, yes, certainly," they both began. They didn't lay it on too thick.

"I'm still learning," Harry explained. "The Black magic, it can be a little tricky. I know just enough to know that. The Potters were more straightforward. How are you feeling, by the way?"

He meant how was Daphne feeling, here in the London locus of the Black family and all its worldly and magical ties.

"Fine," said Daphne. "It was a little overwhelming when we first got here. It felt like Lord Black had brought me in and said, 'Here she is!' Then I underwent inspection. It felt a bit on the meticulous side, for an introductory visit. That's mostly past."

"You're buttering me up," Harry declared.

"Sure, so?" asked Daphne.


	24. Chapter 24

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Twenty-four

Studies

"When we're done with all this courtship and getting-to-know-you, buttering you up will be one of my most important functions."

Harry looked across at Daphne. He was sure he was getting only the surface, with no nuance whatsoever. He took a deep breath, and decided to disregard any negative consequences as they were doubtlessly something to be expected at this early stage.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry said. "Enlighten me, please."

Daphne took her time answering, raising her coffee cup, taking a sip, then swallowing.

"Harry," she began. "Everyone has reverses. I do. You do. All the witches and wizards meet challenges that they can't overcome, or could overcome if they'd been prepared but they weren't, or they simply run into something that they have to struggle against, for weeks, or months, or years. Anyone can get discouraged in that kind of situation. Buttering you up, in your homely phrase, will be the least of the supporting acts I may need to do for you. When I do it for you, I do it for me. I do it for us. When you're calm, at ease, doing what you're good at and comfortable doing, it's a very nice feeling, just being in your company."

"You had your wand pointed right between my eyes not that long ago," Harry said.

"Yeah, I got a little hot, didn't I?" Daphne admitted. "But you got me out of that and fairly quickly, too. When you shared your Greengrass financial plan and why you'd done it the way you did, not to mention your vision of our roles in the whole thing, I became very warm and fuzzy."

"Aha," said Harry. "So that's when…"

"YES! Harry Potter," said Daphne. "That's when it occurred to me, in a flash, that a wizard who'd go to that much trouble to help out, not only me, but my whole family, a wizard smart enough to conceive it and with the substance to get the goblins on his side, that wizard might be what my core, the Greengrass inside me, had been waiting for. Even if we did have to abide by our agreement to do business first and personal later."

"We waited, what? How long from the time we left Greengrass Manor?" asked Harry, trying mightily to stifle a grin that ignored his efforts.

"Not the point," said Daphne. "I needed some help, you gave it, the place inside opened up in expectation of a call from Potter. Did you feel yours open?"

Harry flushed.

"It's been open," he said his voice so low it was almost a whisper, "Has been for years. I'd just learned to live with it, open, never expecting it would welcome a guest."

They stared across the table.

"Has she seen the master suite, Harry?" asked Regulus.

So much for the most precious Greengrass-Potter moment to date.

"I will cover you guys up and let you out once a year, on your birthdays, I swear, so help me Merlin," said Harry.

Daphne pushed her chair back and stood.

"Nice, while it lasted," she observed. "There are whole chunks of the house I haven't seen though, so why don't we walk around while I'm here so you can show me?"

Daphne had to watch the time but Harry managed to cover the whole house. Some stops were along the lines of, "This was Sirius' room when he lived here. This was Regulus' room…"

The dungeon still awaited the considered attentions of Harry and Kreacher, obviating the need to visit right then. There would be time for more thorough explorations.

During the next few weeks, Daphne monitored Cyrus and Cordelia's domestic account closely.

"How are you, Mum?" Daphne asked, each time they met. Cordelia could take her choice of areas where Daphne might have concerns.

"Fine, Daphne, as you undoubtedly know," Mrs. Greengrass would answer.

Cyrus and Cordelia were adapting well to their new circumstances.

"We could use a little more flexibility," Cordelia might say.

"You'll get it," Daphne would answer. "Maybe not this week."

"Would Harry…" Cordelia tried.

"Mother, I want you to listen to me," Daphne said. "You and Father and Astoria and Harry and I are all part of this. We work on it together. Harry helped me analyze the problem but that is all he is—a consultant. I think I can say, fairly reliably, that if you want to go back to the way you and Father were doing things, Harry would expect you to budget in the repayment of his loan."

That got Cordelia's attention. She was a very astute witch who had shown early promise as a scholar before she married and reduced her interests to her daughters, tea and backgammon with her social group, and alcohol. She knew they weren't far enough along in the Greengrass recovery plan to take on retiring the lien on the manor. She also knew Harry Potter was more than her daughter's business consultant.

"What have you and Harry been doing?" Cordelia asked.

"He came over last night and helped me clean, so I fixed us something to eat, and then we read a little bit before he went home," Daphne said.

Cordelia heard Daphne's words and was wise enough to know they actually said, "Harry came to my flat and honored me with the gift of his time and labor to make my nest clean and comfortable so I presented him with a food offering from my personal larder which he graciously accepted and then we studied magical married life together."

Cordelia knew they were reading family grimoires and books on the theory of family magic.

"Deep," said Cordelia.

"Oh, I don't know," Daphne said. "We'll see how it goes."

Cordelia's knowledge of family magical theory came from lots of little conversations with her mother, her student days and hundreds of hours of social conversation with some very learned witches. Daphne didn't fool her.

Cyrus wasn't uncommunicative, but he was subdued. The voluble, glad-handing former businessman and quidditch player had disappeared, replaced by a quieter person, one who observed the social niceties, but who also sat staring for long minutes without saying anything.

Harry read his way through several books on the theory of family magic. Lacking both grandparents and parents meant that Harry did not get the skeletal structure, the underlying theory, which is best acquired a little at a time from the family elders. Nor did he hear the illustrative family stories that put the meat on the bones of theory.

Harry felt the absence of that background information like a physical sensation. He came close to irritating Daphne with his questions and requests for clarification. His focus paid dividends. He looked up footnotes and references, then the footnotes in the references he'd gotten from the footnotes. Harry paid a courtesy call on a famous alchemist he'd learned about from a reference book. He wanted to talk about the alchemist's studies and raise questions he'd formed from readings in his Black and Potter grimoires. The alchemist was flattered by the attention, as he was normally left alone by his magical colleagues. He indulged Harry for a quarter of an hour before trying to redirect the conversation to a first-hand account of Harry's duel with Voldemort.

Harry did know enough to face Dieter Berg at Potter Manor and invoke the Potter family magic in defense of Daphne and himself. It would be decades before Daphne told Harry that she heard a voice coming from inside herself say, "Oooo…" when Harry shrank the petrified Dieter and put him in his pocket. She said that was the Greengrass magic speaking to her. Harry suspected his Great-Grandmother Dorea had just as much chance of being the origin as did the Greengrass magic, but by that time he had greater control over his impulsive responses and the good sense to keep his mouth shut.

Keeping his mouth shut at Greengrass Manor was not very challenging for Harry. Cyrus would talk to him about quidditch, which Harry enjoyed, but little else. Daphne and Cordelia had two to three hours of pent-up discussions by the end of the week. As long as Harry didn't initiate conversation they left him alone.

Daphne and Harry traded invitations for meals. There wasn't anything like an agreement but when they slept over they tended to alternate between Harry's townhouse and Daphne's flat. The frantic madness surrounding Romilda's arrival and Harry and Pansy's intervention in Morag's life dissipated. Harry and Daphne kept one another focused on their studies.

"Still interested in this stuff?" Daphne asked one evening. They'd finished a chapter in one of the family magic texts and were going to break for tea.

"Daphne, I'm up to my eyeballs in your Greengrass family business," said Harry. "Staying interested is no longer optional. I do like working through the books with you. The different theories are starting to stand out now. My appreciation for the field is orders of magnitude bigger than it was. You?"

"Oh, me, too," said Daphne. "I'd just scratched the surface. I knew, of course, that a wizard defending a witch will make the witch feel positive feelings inside. Muggles experience that, too."

"Positive feelings?" Harry asked.

"Of course," said Daphne. "Individual exceptions aside, women are overall physically weaker than men. A man putting himself between a woman and danger will generally evoke warm feelings. I suspect it goes back to the savannah."

"Magic is the great equalizer, though," Harry said. "How does that figure?"

"Probably something left over in the DNA from proto-humans," Daphne explained.

"Well, anyway, where are we?" Harry asked. "Do we sign up for classes at some point, or some form of counseling? Get outside confirmation we are just what the other one needs?"

"Harry," Daphne said. "You're in tut-tut territory. We don't have to do anything. Most people don't."

"True, but most people don't have a very high probability of achieving happiness in their personal lives."

"Okay, I can't fault you there," Daphne said. "We've probably outworked ninety percent of witches and wizards already. We don't have to push it. Are you unhappy with the way things are?"

"On the contrary," Harry said. "I'm very happy."

"I like my job and the amount of time I have available to devote to it," said Daphne. "I haven't felt the need to start blending a demanding Young Magical Matron dimension into my activities. How is your business coming along?"

"Great," said Harry. "I'm really enjoying myself. Neville and I are looking for a fresh venture to bring in under the umbrella of the LLC. Mort and Daisy have been doing a lot at Potter Manor. You need to come along and take a look."

"Fine," Daphne said. "It sounds to me like we're agreed. We continue the way we are until something tells us it is time for the next step.

"On a related matter, can you come to Cyrus and Cordelia's for Saturday tea? The Malfoys are coming. It looks like Cyrus is resigned to the loss of the Selwyns and the Malfoys to the acquisition of Astoria."

"The Malfoys, ah…" said Harry. "You see, there is something."

"Harry, this isn't you and Draco from the sorting ceremony, is it?" asked a very skeptical-looking Daphne. "Old quidditch beefs that never got settled?"

"Oh, no," Harry said. "That was school nonsense. This is…well, I knew I'd have to talk to you about it sooner or later. Maybe it's meaningless, or I've got it wrong, but here it is."

Harry hadn't made his presentation on his and Narcissa's moments to anyone before, so the initial one was probably a little jerky and not well-thought-out. Quality aside, the content was what it was. Daphne took it well, or as well as could be expected. She listened, face in neutral, reserving comment until the end.

"I see," Daphne said. Harry hypothesized that her comment was strictly rhetorical, and she really didn't see much more than the most obvious, superficial aspects.

"I've got some reading to do," Daphne said. "Maybe a little consulting, too."

Harry left it alone.


	25. Chapter 25

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Twenty-five

Honing Social Skills

The reading and consulting might have had something to do with the success of the Saturday tea at Greengrass Manor. To Harry it looked like an exercise in old-fashioned territoriality. Harry and Daphne agreed to meet at Daphne's flat and proceed to Greengrass Manor together. Daphne conveyed an expectation that Harry would join her thirty minutes prior to their presumptive departure. Daphne used the time wisely for a bit of coaching.

"Have you thought about how you're going to deal with having Narcissa close by?" Daphne asked.

"Ahh, well," Harry began.

"No, then," said Daphne. "That's fine. I'll just give you your instructions and then you won't have to think."

"Um, sure," Harry conceded.

"If you think Narcissa might have had designs on you, you will want to save everyone the embarrassment and prevent any untoward events," said Daphne. "An ounce of prevention."

"Can't argue with you there," Harry replied, wondering where Daphne was going.

"Even though the families know one another, this is, officially, the initial, everyone-from-both-sides, make-your-acquaintance event," Daphne went on. "It kicks everything else off."

"Okay," Harry said, noting the redundancy in comment but feeling at a loss for having anything more constructive to contribute.

"There is a bit of role-playing in these get-togethers," said Daphne. "In the event good manners prevail, it should be very cute. The two mothers dote on the children, but kind of lay it on thick toward the other one's child. Mother will be commenting on Draco and what a fine young man he is and how she and Father are so pleased Draco wants to be part of us and bring Astoria into the Malfoys."

"Uh-huh," Harry agreed. Daphne thought she saw signs of some slippage in Harry's attention level.

"Still with me?" Daphne asked, looking for a little confirmation.

Harry nodded.

"Oh, yes, of course," he said.

"Narcissa will reciprocate with regard to Astoria. Wizards will hover for a bit, not wandering off but not sitting with the witches, either," said Daphne. "Draco will stay close to Astoria. You, Father and Lucius will find yourselves a little more distant, but initially you'll keep an eye on the witches and pay attention. Can you do that?"

"Rub elbows with Lucius Malfoy and pay attention to the conversation between Cordelia and Narcissa?" Harry asked.

"Yes. Can you do that?"

Something must have cued Daphne that Harry had to think about it.

"What's wrong?" Daphne asked.

"Well, Lucius and I have history, as, of course, you know," Harry said.

"Oh, right," said Daphne. "Graveyard at Little Hangleton, as I recall. What happened there, again?"

"Peter Pettigrew sliced my arm open and used my blood to reconstitute Voldemort, who summoned the Death Eaters, and then he made me duel him."

"And you…?" asked Daphne.

"Fought him to a standstill, then I got away with Cedric Diggory's body and the goblet, which was really a port key," said Harry.

"And Lucius was there and saw all that?"

"Oh, yeah, right in front. Voldemort humiliated him before we got going on the duel," Harry said. He tried to fight it, in consideration of Cedric, but got a big grin at the memory.

"Anything else?"

"Ahh…" said Harry. "Well. The so-called Battle of the Department of Mysteries which was really more of a fight between two gangs. Our illegal student organization did well. Except for losing Sirius. That one put Lucius in Azkaban."

"Is that all?"

"No," said Harry.

"And?"

"The other stuff. That thing you saw. At Hogwarts," said Harry.

"So, is there any reason why Lucius Malfoy's presence should put you off stride?" Daphne asked.

"No," said Harry.

"Good," said Daphne. "I didn't think so. Lucius should be the one to break out in a cold sweat at the very thought of incurring your wrath. Now, when we get there and make the rounds, make sure you kiss their hands. Mother and Narcissa, of course, not the wizards. I see you wore your signets."

Harry held out his hands for Daphne to inspect.

"Nails trimmed and buffed, hands clean. I'm impressed, Lord Harry. Now, if Narcissa thinks she's going to work a little one-on-one magic, or if she just lets her self-control slip a bit, don't get swept away. I'll be right there, watching, and I'll take care of it," Daphne said. "So don't worry yourself over Narcissa. Do you still think she's hot? Tell the truth."

"Well, uh, as I said when I told you about all this…" said Harry, unable to get to the point.

"That's a yes," said Daphne, "Don't worry, I'm not offended. Narcissa is hot, as a matter of fact. You are distant Black cousins so the Black magic is probably, no, undoubtedly working in the background. My guess is she's going to be grateful to you for saving her child and husband and getting rid of a mortal threat to all three of them, probably for as long as she lives. You knew we needed to talk about it and you told me the truth. You have no idea what that does for me."

"Good?" asked Harry.

"Oh, my goodness yes, Harry Potter," said Daphne. "Now we go face something together again, our alliance strengthened by your honesty and trust in me. This is going exceedingly well."

Harry knew he'd never grasp all of that so he resolved to kiss the hands of the matriarchs, maintain a correct but studiedly neutral demeanor with the fathers of the prospective bride and groom, and not get sucked into conversations about recent history or business.

Daphne's briefing was critical, Harry confessed when they got back to London.

They weren't needed as auxiliaries to Cordelia, as they would have been for a ball. Harry and Daphne arrived as invited guests, a few minutes behind the Malfoys. Harry wore a normal business robe of conventional cut from a good fabric. An understated facsimile of Harry's Order of Merlin rosette was embroidered over his heart. Daphne lay her left wrist across Harry's right forearm and let him lead her through the central hallway of her childhood home.

Everyone stood when Harry and Daphne walked in. Cyrus broke away from the other five and met them just inside the door to the salon.

"Daphne," he said. Cyrus and Daphne did a little greeting embrace.

"And Harry," said Cyrus, extending his hand. "Welcome to our home. You know everyone, I'm sure?"

"Oh, at least well enough to put names to faces," Harry said. "How have you been, sir?"

Daphne kept up just the slightest pull to Harry's arm, steering them both toward the group of five.

"Mother," she said, giving Cordelia a kiss on the cheek.

"Lady Cordelia," said Harry, accepting Cordelia's offered hand in both of his and bringing it up to his lips. "An honor, as always."

Harry intended to keep his greetings for Lucius and Narcissa short. It occurred to him, when he had Cordelia's right hand half way to his lips that he didn't know the proper protocol for greeting the Malfoys.

"Madam," said Harry. He figured a wizard could never go wrong with 'Madam.' He stopped in front of Narcissa, heels together. She offered her hand. Harry took Narcissa's right hand in both of his and bent slightly at the waist.

"My lord," said Narcissa. Harry didn't have a grip on her hand, but he let it rest on his forefingers as he straightened up. Narcissa didn't seem to be in a hurry to take her hand back. As a matter of fact, her thumb lay on the web of Harry's right hand, making little stroking motions. 'My lord' took him by surprise so he had no follow-up ready. Harry recalled Daphne's comment about cousinhood and Black magic working in the background. He decided to let a little bit out, as a transition and just for the fun of seeing what it would do.

"Esteemed Cousin, what shall we do for this golden couple? A little something in their honor on the lawn or in the garden, to let the Blacks share in the joy?" Harry asked. "Or put Magical Britain on notice, as the case may be?"

Narcissa lit up and grinned a huge grin. Harry Potter, Lord Black, with a bit of help from Narcissa Black Malfoy had certainly put those gathered together in the Greengrass Manor salon on notice. Narcissa's smile said she thought Harry's subtle suggestion of an alliance between themselves was just fine. So did the sudden pressure of her grip on Harry's fingers.

"Whatever you think best," she said. "That really is your prerogative."

Daphne was getting stiff. Harry felt it even though they weren't physically touching. Someone had to do something. Dispensing his most gracious, 'Your servant, Madam,' Harry dropped his hands and stepped over to Lucius.

"Sir," he said, extending his hand. Lucius let Harry take the lead, then accepted Harry's hand.

"Lord Harry," he said, inclining a little, not quite bowing but still deferring to his senior in rank. Harry took a moment to allow Lucius and Daphne time for a minimal greeting.

"And the guests of honor," Harry said, leading now, placing his hand on Daphne's back and walking three paces to stand in front of Draco and Astoria. Daphne threw protocol out the window and reached for her sister. Harry and Draco stood back, smiling at the two as their clinch went on and on.

"Best wishes," Harry said as soon as Astoria was free. He expected a short, formal handshake but Astoria dropped her eyes, curtsied and murmured, "Lord Harry," before straightening up and accepting the hand Harry held out. Draco was last. He had a surprise ready as well.

"Lord Harry," said Draco. He stood at attention, heels together, and inclined his head before shaking Harry's hand.

Harry didn't have a lot of time to think through the formalities, the protocol followed, the protocol flouted, or the meaning of it all.

Fluff took drink orders. Draco and Astoria occupied a settee. Draco's feet were flat on the carpet, his hands on his knees. Astoria crossed her ankles and sat with her hands folded in her lap. Now and then Astoria, to underline a point, would reach across and touch Draco's hand, before returning to her original position. Narcissa sat in a chair at Draco's end of the settee, Cordelia on a chair next to Astoria. Small talk was made, along the lines Daphne had outlined for him. Harry stood with Daphne and paid attention to the social chit-chat focused on the happy couple. Cyrus and Lucius drifted a little further afield. Daphne dropped her arm and laid her near hand lightly on the middle of Harry's back. Harry joined the other wizards.

Tea was in the garden. Harry hadn't finished his firewhisky and water when the celebration moved outside. He hadn't meant to finish it, he'd just asked Fluff for something to hold along with the other wizards. He spotted a little trivet on an occasional table and put down his glass. The garden furniture was placed on a thick carpet of emerald green grass. Astoria had her shoes off as soon as she arrived, and Daphne joined her not long after.

Harry stood a little way off with Lucius and Cyrus. He didn't try to make small talk. He listened but looked mostly toward Daphne, alert for a summons. The two older wizards carried on a peculiar conversation. Harry noticed the absence of any political commentary. Cyrus didn't initiate anything related to business, and Lucius seemed to be happy with that.

When they'd finished their tea, Astoria announced she'd like to stretch her legs just a bit, if their mothers would excuse them. Narcissa and Cordelia did so, and the two intendeds walked around the garden paths, always staying in view of the larger party back on the lawn. After two complete trips around the garden, the couple's business was apparently concluded, and they rejoined the others.

"Mother, Father," said Draco. "We need to thank our host, and hostess."

Astoria was beaming. Her hand found Draco's and gave it a squeeze. She loosened up but held on.

Departure formalities ensued and were concluded. The Malfoys walked through Greengrass Manor to the front lawn, complimenting Cordelia and Cyrus on the décor, noticing this or that departed noble in the portraiture on the walls.

The elder Greengrass's flanked Astoria on the walk back to the front door, trailing Daphne and Harry. Astoria was visibly desperate to get her sister someplace private, so Harry kept Cyrus and Cordelia company for a bit. Cordelia gave her daughters ten minutes before taking her leave.

"Can you occupy yourselves with wizard-talk while I track them down?" Cordelia asked, standing and exiting without waiting for a response.

Cyrus looked at Harry, but didn't say anything. Harry grasped that if there were to be wizard-talk, he would have to initiate it. He had trouble coming up with a subject. Harry didn't want to talk about the Wizengamot because he knew too little about Cyrus' positions on the current issues. Business was out because Harry and Daphne had taken the reins of the Greengrass business interests. Perhaps worse, Cyrus had once accused Harry of seducing Daphne for the specific purpose of using her as his instrument to acquire Greengrass Manor. For all Harry knew he still thought that way. Besides that, Daphne had taken the lead in leveraging Harry's control of the lien on the manor to force Cyrus to open up his financial records so that she could impose a recovery plan. Even if the plan was working, which it was, Cyrus' pride was hurt, and would probably stay hurt for a good long time.

Harry had to break the silence somehow, so he circled back to an issue before the Wizengamot. It wasn't politics, exactly, nor business, but definitely related. The bulk of taxes wizards paid came back to real estate, somehow. Land was taxed, with different rates for agricultural land, family housing, commercial use, and so on. Renters paid since part of the rent money for a flat or house passed straight through the landlord's account to the Ministry. There was a proposal to increase an existing tax on commercial transactions and professional services in order to freeze property taxes. A minority, third-way bill would increase the tax in order to actually roll back the property tax, although few serious observers thought the bill would ever generate enough support to make it to a vote.

"Cyrus, you have more experience than I do with the tax system, where do you think these tax bills are headed?" Harry asked.

Cyrus held several opinions, as it turned out, and not all of them were self-contradictory. He was actually very well-informed, with a grasp of the history of the present system and how the proposed changes would affect different constituencies.

"We pay more, of course, presently, because the taxes on land could be frozen or lowered if they made up the revenue from a commercial tax increase," Cyrus began. "I don't know how someone like you, or Daphne, would be affected. You collect rent, of course…"

"Um-hmm," said Harry, "And I have a little farmland rented out that's attached to the country house."

Cyrus paused.

"Anything that would be subject to the commercial tax increase?"

"Not that I can think of," said Harry, adding, "Unless I think of a product I can sell."

"So you'd benefit if the tax on commercial transactions went up, assuming they'd really freeze the land tax."

Harry puzzled over the seeming contradiction. His own family had taken Cyrus' responsibility as their main provider away from him because he'd proven to be incompetent. At the same time, he had a solid understanding of a complex Wizengamot debate over tax policy, down to the level of how the real-life citizen would be affected by the proposed changes.

Harry gave Daphne a big smile when she returned with Cordelia and Astoria. He was glad to see her, of course. He was really glad, though, that she was extracting him from his conversation with Cyrus. Harry couldn't say exactly why, but something about it was making him sad.

The group of five made a little more small talk, mostly compliments directed at Astoria, assuring her Draco seemed to be just about the best intended ever, and assurances they'd both be very happy together. Before long, though, Daphne judged they'd been there just long enough, and anything more would be excess.

"Mr. Potter," she said.

"Healer?" Harry replied.

"I'm afraid I must impose on you, if you're ready," said Daphne.

"Never an imposition," said Harry, offering an arm once again. Harry walked Daphne to the front lawn and one disapparation later they arrived at a discreet apparation point in Daphne's London neighborhood.

"You were the day's big hit," said Daphne when they got back to her flat.

"Really?" said Harry. "I'd have thought Astoria, then Draco. He has changed a lot, by the way."

"Yeah," Daphne said. "We are all a few years older, so that's to be expected. The ladies were so pleased your lordship found their hands suitable for kissing. They don't get a lot of that kind of gallantry, these days, is my guess."

"It wasn't too bad," Harry said. "The tea, the conversation. I'll get better, with your help."

Harry looked into Daphne's eyes. She looked back.

"You may not know this, Harry, but when you tell a certain kind of witch you want her by your side, navigating life and society, together, she begins to update her plans for her personal life."

"Are you that kind of witch, Healer Daphne?" Harry asked. "Because I can tell you several times a day, if you don't think it will get old."

"Um," Daphne said, her minimal acknowledgement of Harry's offer indicating she suspected he was being just the least little bit facetious. "We need to talk about Narcissa, Harry."

"Do we?" asked Harry.

"Yes," said Daphne, suddenly all seriousness. "You two respond to one another. The other's presence, most likely. Be very careful when you're around her. My advice would be to never let yourselves be alone together."

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked. "We barely spoke, aside from one exchange, when you and I were greeting everyone. You were right there."

"The way she looked at you," said Daphne, "The way she called you 'My Lord' when she is senior in age and the mother of one of the guests of honor. Your offer to collaborate on a little joint hospitality got a deferential response. A very positive and deferential response, if I may."

"Anything between Narcissa and me would blow up her family, you and me, possibly Draco and Astoria," said Harry. "She'd never do that. Are you sure she wasn't just vibrating to a little Black resonance, there in close quarters?"

Daphne looked Harry in the eye.

"Harry, you don't know witches," she said.


	26. Chapter 26

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Twenty-six

Farewell, Mother Livia

Harry was getting a lot of satisfaction out of running his business. Neville Longbottom was a valued partner, with skills and interests that complemented Harry's. Each trusted the other's judgment in his area of expertise, leading to a natural, comfortable-feeling division of labor.

The new building got updated apartments first. The tenants seemed pleased, and the modest rent increases didn't appear to be giving anyone heartburn. The ground floor was updated, although the work was incomplete. Harry, Mort and Daisy could only take the improvements so far. The finish work would require a plan for a specific kind of business. An office would take them one way, a café would take them another.

Harry asked Pansy and Neville to put the word out that a newly-renovated space in a good building was coming onto the market. Harry reminded himself the muggles had a saying: Think Outside the Box. He resolved to do so.

Pansy sent an owl with a note to Morag once a week. Morag usually responded right away. Pansy didn't pry, although she did ask Morag to tell Livia she sent her love. It had been more than a month, closer to six weeks since they had delivered the loaf of bread, when Morag's return note stated simply that Pansy might want to come soon if she wanted to see Livia again.

Pansy went the next day. This time she didn't hold with ceremony and stop at the stile, going instead straight to climbing over and walking up to the door.

She gave it two solid knocks, calling out, "Morag? It's Pansy."

Pansy was well north of Hadrian's Wall and the day had a definite autumnal feel.

"Come on in," said Morag as soon as she opened the door.

Pansy looked around the kitchen and eating area. The plank table stood in the center. Pansy couldn't help remembering Morag's improvised examination of Romilda just a few weeks before.

"Mother?" Morag called out from the doorway. Livia said something that Pansy heard but couldn't understand.

Morag waved Pansy over.

"Look who's here," Morag said. "Pansy came to see you."

Pansy felt a little shock when she first looked at Livia. The old but still bright and alert witch had shrunk into herself in the intervening weeks since Pansy last visited. Still, Livia managed a smile across one side of her face. She breathed in, the effort to get the extra air necessary for speech was visible, and the words that came out were so soft.

"Pans," said Livia, raising her one functioning arm. "Pans."

Pansy knelt by Livia's bedside and placed her near arm carefully over the old witch.

"Bless Pans," said Livia. She took her time and managed a very understandable, "Thank-you, came to see, old, old witch."

With that she was winded. Livia closed her eyes. Pansy knew she hadn't drifted off to sleep because Livia's arm was around Pansy's shoulder and it rubbed a little, back and forth. Pansy slowly and carefully extracted herself, putting Livia's arm on the blanket. She got up from her knees and took a seat on the chair next to the bed, making sure she was close enough to pick up Livia's hand.

Morag had gone out at some point, which Pansy hadn't noticed, and she returned with a cup and saucer.

"Tea?" Morag asked. "Let's see."

Morag moved a little occasional table over from a corner and put the tea down for Pansy, before carefully picking a spot at the foot of Livia's bed and sitting down.

"She hasn't been able to swallow since day before yesterday," Morag said. "That is pretty definitive. Then today she brightened up and asked about you. I'm imposing on you, Pansy, I know that. I can't do any more. I thought, if Pansy can come, say good-bye…It's my last chance to do for her."

"Oh, Morag," said Pansy, "Oh, of course, of course, of course. Thank-you for sending for me. Just that fast?"

"Yes," Morag said, her voice low, just for Pansy. As she spoke, Morag watched her mother's face.

"That is a fairly typical course. When humans get to a certain point something takes over and the individual kind of drops the reins. It's the same for muggles. If that sounds mystical it's because it is. What do you think of that, coming from a healer? I don't have an explanation. The whole process is miraculous, it seems to me. No pain or violence, no wasting disease, just the old body saying good-bye and the other going on."

Livia got a little blurry for Pansy, who had to sniff, but just once.

The two witches sat like that, watching their charge. Livia squeezed Pany's hand now and then. As Livia's grip on Pansy's fingers loosened her breath began to rattle, then it stopped for short periods before starting again. The daylight from outside grew dimmer. Pansy could see the sky turn to cobalt, then violet. Morag lit a single candle that stood in a short pewter candlestick set atop a battered wooden dresser. She dabbed at the corners of Livia's mouth with a tissue, then sat back down again at the foot of Livia's bed. Pansy continued to hold Livia's hand even after it was plain from the lack of pressure that Livia was no longer holding onto Pansy. Livia's breathing stopped for longer and longer periods, then Livia gave a little shudder. Her jaw dropped slightly. Livia's arm slackened completely.

Pansy looked at her friend, whose face was lit only on the one side, by the candle on the dresser.

"Morag," Pansy said. "Morag."

A shiny track down Morag's cheek showed the path a tear had taken. Pansy slid onto the edge of Livia's bed, being careful to avoid the old witch's feet, and wrapped her arms around Morag. Neither was ever very sure how long they sat there, just like that, Morag letting Pansy rock her a bit, now and then. The candle burned very low. Outside it was full dark.

"Well," Morag said at last. She extracted herself from Pansy and stood up.

"I'll need to let the others know," she said. "I doubt if they can come. They are so old."

Something in that short sentence made Morag start laughing at herself.

"Oh, Mother Livia," Morag said. Pansy thought she sounded mildly giddy. "You had a good, long run, didn't you?"

Pansy took a last look at the old lady's angelic face and lifted the sheet, placed Livia's arm next to her and pulled the sheet up and over.

"Funeral plans? Last requests?" Pansy asked.

"No," said Morag. "When we talked about it, two or three years back, Mum said, 'That would be presumptuous of me, now, wouldn't it?' We dropped it and never took it up again. There is a little church about two miles away. She and Dad used to attend, when they were fit. Everyone from their time is long gone, of course. There is a very understanding young minister there now. If I let him know the sexton will dig the grave and we can have a few moments there with her. I honestly think she might have thought, in life, by doing that little bit I was foisting something showy on her."

"Fine," said Pansy. "How about someone to help you? You really shouldn't be the one…"

Pansy gestured toward the bed.

Morag caught her breath and nodded.

"Let me send some notes," she said.

"Will you let me bring Harry?" Pansy asked.

Morag was on the verge of shouting NO when she caught herself.

"Oh, why not?" she said. "He's an incorrigible goody-goody. Might as well put him to use."

Pansy took her leave and returned to London. She found Harry and Daphne at the office, locked in an inconclusive discussion of whether they wanted to go someplace for a meal. Harry's do-gooder mind was spinning by the time Pansy finished her synopsis of how she'd spent the better part of the day. When Pansy returned to Morag's cottage, she brought Daphne, who refused to let Pansy go back alone.

Next morning at seven, Harry appeared in the lane with Neville Longbottom and Blaise Zabini. He led the way over the stile and walked up to knock on Morag's door. A whitehaired man who looked to be eighty or thereabouts opened the door and stood there looking, first at Harry, then Blaise, then Neville.

"Aye?" he said.

"It's okay, Angus, he's with me," said a female voice from inside.

"Oh, that's fine then, darlin,'" said Angus, his face turning radiant as he stepped back.

Daphne looked around the jamb.

"Well, come on in, then," she said. "How was your trip?"

"Ah, we came by apparition, so…," said Harry, confused by the cosmology behind the question.

Once inside, the newly-arrived were taken around the cottage to meet the guests, most of whom were quite ancient. Livia MacDougal was unusual only because she was over toward the right side of the magical longevity Bell Curve. The group's center was also well to the right of the standard British magical's expected shelf life.

Harry looked around the cottage. The plank table was full of food, except for one end that was covered by every kind of bottle and jar, most of them lacking a label describing the contents. Judging by the supply of mugs, cups and glasses in a metal basin near the window the guests hadn't been worried that the unknown contents posed any danger. Harry wondered how long the paying of respects had gone on, or if they'd begun and never stopped.

"Harry," said a voice. "Neville. Blaise."

"Pansy!" they all answered, together.

"What can we do?" Blaise asked.

"Harry met Livia," said Pansy. "Did either of you?"

"I did," said Blaise.

"No, never did," said Neville. "Gran knew her."

"Well, she's in her room," said Pansy. "If you want to say good-bye. Some witches will be handling arrangements. They'll be here this morning, then tomorrow there will be a little memorial and burial in a churchyard not far from here."

"How's Morag?" asked Harry.

"Doing well," Pansy answered. "It was hard last night, of course. She has built her life around Livia, especially the last two or three years. Now the organizing principle is gone. Why don't we go see her? I think she'd like that."

Morag did like it. Her classmates found her in Livia's room. The wizards stood silently, paying their respects to an ancient witch who had completed her race. When they'd finished, a round of hugs and condolences got Morag out of her chair and upright.

"I need a little air," she said. Blaise led the group out into the other room, then Morag showed everyone the way to the back door. Once outside they congregated around the bench beneath the trellis. The morning glories had died and hung, brown and dried out, on the lattice. Neville plucked a few pods and opened them up, dropping the seeds on the ground.

"Oh, much better," said Morag. "What are you all doing here? I told Pansy she could bring Harry back."

"Whatever you want done," said Blaise. "We're entirely at your disposal."

"Oh, that's nice," said Morag. "That's a first, for me. Three fine wizards at my disposal."

One or two more exchanges went by before someone laughed at something someone said. Pansy arrived and told about Livia's Shetland pony, Pansy, which got the human Pansy off to a wonderful start with Livia.

Daphne stepped outside and stopped to assist Angus with the step down to the ground, then walked at his pace out to the group around the bench.

"Everyone, this is my brother, Angus," said Morag. "This is Harry, this is Neville, this is Blaise, Angus. We were all classmates at Hogwarts."

"Ah, Hogwarts," said Angus. "Doubt I could find my way to the Great Hall today."

"Of course you could," said Morag, "It never changes."

"Perhaps I could, with a lovely guide or two," said Angus, putting an arm around Daphne's waist.

When the witches arrived to take charge of Livia the family and friends lined up in respect and waited until the group disapparated with Livia's coffin. There were a few moments while everyone stood, silent, looking back and forth at the faces around them. Pansy and Daphne flanked Morag, arms laced across her back.

Daphne took Morag aside and made a case for going to Glasgow until she was needed at the church the next morning. Morag protested. She needed to clean inside, there was too much work, and so on. Daphne caught Harry's eye and glanced off to the side and back. Harry moved off in accord with Daphne's directions.

"Harry, can you summon Kreacher? Morag is fretting about getting the cottage cleaned up. She shouldn't have to be thinking about that right now," said Daphne.

"I don't know," Harry said. "I've never tried from this distance, but there is one way to find out. Kreacher, I need you."

The elf appeared before Harry and Daphne. A few of the guests took notice but most didn't. Now that Livia was gone the crowd was thinning steadily.

"Kreacher, we need to give some assistance to our friend, Healer Morag," Harry said. "She just lost her mother, who had been living here for many years. The friends and family came to pay their respects and left a bit of a mess."

Daphne thought Harry had handled things perfectly and gave both Harry and Kreacher a very pleased smile.

"We should make introductions," Harry said, nodding toward the bench where Morag sat, Pansy alongside holding Morag's hand.

Morag wasn't used to working with a house elf so she kept getting in the way, trying to do some household task. Once she and Kreacher worked through that initial startup they became very efficient and the cottage was quickly made clean and neat. Morag couldn't stop thanking Kreacher.

"Morag, I know it's too soon to pin you down on plans, but I need to share an idea…," Daphne began.

Harry began soliciting suggestions for a lunch venue as mid-day approached. Daphne had elicited a promise from Morag to consider coming down to London and working for at least a few months. She made her pitch in terms of a chance for Morag to reintegrate with the other healers along with the easy access to advanced healing courses in the city. Around the time Daphne finished with Morag someone suggested getting some lunch at a magical pub in Glasgow.

No one had a better suggestion so the classmates proceeded to Glasgow by apparition. The pub, being magical, had no obligation to put up football photos or trophies. Thus the witches and wizards were relieved of the requirement to either mention or conceal their affinity for Celtic or Rangers.

"This is good," said Neville. He'd just swallowed a bite from his sandwich and was preparing to wash it down with a splash of butterbeer.

"Mm-hmm," Harry said. He'd ordered the same sandwich as Neville.

Blaise didn't say anything as he chewed. He had a good angle on the plate glass window in the streetside wall and was watching the near distance outside, as it did nothing in particular.

"Good chips," said Harry. He had put some brown sauce on his.

"Sauce good?" asked Neville, who was partial to ketchup.

Harry held up the bottle so Neville could see the label of a popular, mass-produced condiment that graced shelf space in every supermarket in Britain.

"Same as the Leaky Cauldron's," Harry said.

"Figures," said Neville.

The witches, Morag, Pansy and Daphne, sat three across on one side of a booth. Harry and Blaise occupied the opposite side. Neville couldn't fit so he was in a chair on the end of the table opposite the wall.

With Livia's arrangements in the competent hands of some local witches, and the cottage cleaned by the hyper-efficient Kreacher, there wasn't any reason for Morag to stay by herself overnight. Daphne suggested Morag return to London where she'd at least have someone to talk to. Neville thought there would be a room at the Leaky Cauldron, if Morag could give him a little time to talk to Hannah.

"Don't worry about it, Neville, really," Pansy said. "I've got space at my flat."

Plans kept evolving. Harry extended an invitation to everyone for dinner at #12 Grimmauld Place. Floo calls went out here and there. The group from Glasgow convened and spread out through #12. There wasn't a lot to do except drink tea or coffee and sit with Morag. Pansy left her side only when one of them needed the powder room.

Seven o'clock found Morag, Pansy, Blaise, Neville, Hannah, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Draco, Astoria and Daphne around the dining table. Kreacher was a near-cyclonic presence, preparing, serving and clearing. Harry spoke to Kreacher in the kitchen beforehand. In recognition of the solemnity of the occasion and out of respect for Madam Livia, Harry asked that Kreacher use the very best of the Black china and silverware. Kreacher swelled with pride.

"Of course, Lord Harry," he said before disapparating to a storage area, whence he brought back crested china and silverware. Harry had seen some of the pieces before, and some he hadn't.

Sirius and Regulus nodded and muttered, "Pleased to meet you," when Harry introduced everyone. They mugged a little at some comments they considered insipid, but overall they were well-behaved. An afternoon with a supportive group of contemporaries was apparently just what Morag needed. She had a few teary moments but there had always been a witch nearby to pick up a hand or lay an arm across her shoulder.

Eventually the group was reduced to Harry, Daphne, Pansy and Morag.

"How are we doing this in the morning?" Harry asked.

"We all know the way," said Pansy. "Why don't we meet at the cottage?"

Morag nodded.

"Done," said Harry. "Do you need anything we have here?"

"I'm pretty well-stocked," said Pansy. "What about something to wear tomorrow?"

Morag was substantially larger, in all her dimensions, than Pansy, and couldn't help laughing.

"Oh, you don't want me borrowing from your closet?" she asked.

"Even with expansion charms…No," said Pansy.

"I'm good," said Morag. "There are a few things at Livia's. I can get dressed there."

Conversation wound down and the pair took the floo from #12 Grimmauld Place. Harry looked at Daphne.

"Want to stay? We didn't get around to talking about that," said Harry.

"I think not," Daphne answered. "I can't go tomorrow. Work. You'll represent the two of us. It's best if I go home. Harry, this has been quite a day. Thank-you for including me."

Harry looked at Daphne. She looked back.

"We've been doing a good deal of including," Harry said.

"We have," Daphne agreed.

"I've been enjoying it," Harry announced.

"I'm glad, because I've enjoyed it very much," said Daphne. "Do you want to keep going?"

"Yes," Harry said. "If you have to ask, I'll make more of an effort to communicate."

"Oh, communication," said Daphne. She stepped closer, pulling Harry to her. "Even if one's wizard doesn't communicate, it is almost as good hearing him say he wants to do more. His heart is in the right place."

Harry listened, doing his best to parse Daphne's commentary, finally deciding he had done something right, in her estimation. He resolved to communicate his desire for communication on a more regular basis.

"Well, then," Harry said, leaning back enough to be able to see Daphne's face. He leaned forward and kissed Daphne's lips. When they pulled apart Harry didn't let go, instead putting his head next to Daphne's while he continued to hug her.

"You were wonderful today, with Morag," he said. "I heard you fussing over her, trying to recruit her. I wished I'd had some humanitarian award in my pocket to give to you, right there in front of everyone."

"Ha," said Daphne. "It was equal parts self-dealing. We need the help. I'm seeing patients in the office tomorrow and working emergency from three to eleven."

"You were the hostess for dinner, too," Harry said. "I was watching you, keeping an eye on the food, sending Kreacher for another pitcher of water for the table. You just did it. I know I need help with those kinds of things."

"I'm happy to do it, Harry," said Daphne. "I like doing it, I like doing it for you and your guests and I really like hearing you say that you noticed."

"We need to talk some things over," Harry said.

"We do," said Daphne. "And we will. There's no rush, is there? Can we do this for a little longer? We are still getting to know one another, again, after, after…all that other."

"For as long as you want," Harry said. He let go, leaned back and gave Daphne another kiss on her lips. "'Night," he said.

"'Night," said Daphne, stepping into Harry's fireplace, and the green flames.


	27. Chapter 27

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Twenty-seven

Morag Resettled

Pansy and Morag got around early the next morning so they could get to Livia's cottage ahead of everyone else. Morag hadn't shopped seriously for several years but she had a very nice Navy suit and a nearly-new robe. Both had been purchased before Morag devoted herself to Livia full-time, so they were a little out of date. The suit was snug when she put it on, but Pansy was handy with those kinds of charms and expanded the skirt and jacket a bit.

"What do you think?" Pansy asked.

Morag was turning side to side, trying to assess herself in a small mirror that hung on the wall.

"Looks like the tailor just finished," Morag said. "Thank-you!"

"Must look our best for Mother Livia's sendoff," said Pansy. "Morag, I wish Harry had sent me last year. Livia was a delight."

"Me too," Morag said. "I'm still amazed I'm even here. We didn't see a lot of people, other than family, when I was growing up. I don't know how old I was when I discovered there were people whose parents were twenty years older than them. I do remember thinking that was very odd, a classmate having parents younger than my brothers and sisters."

"Oh, Morag, that is so…" Pansy started to laugh. "Magical!"

The mourners from the day before began to congregate at the cottage. Harry and the other Londoners mixed with Morag and the Scottish contingent. Fresh hampers were stored on the counter and under the big plank table, ready for a post-funeral lunch.

Some of the party walked the few miles to the church, although most went by apparition. Angus was disappointed Daphne hadn't made it up from London, but he managed a 'Bless her' when Harry said she was seeing patients.

Livia hadn't left instructions for a funeral. Morag and her siblings all agreed their mother would possibly tolerate a little remembrance or sendoff ceremony at graveside, but more than that would be unnecessary frippery. The young, understanding minister at the church dispensed with his gown and presided instead in a charcoal suit and black tie, leading his little temporary flock through the service for the dead. He spoke for a few minutes about Livia's life and example, how she and her last husband were remembered in the neighborhood for their openness and unfailing charity for all.

The service concluded and everyone was invited back to the cottage for lunch.

The hampers were unpacked and the unlabeled bottles and jars reappeared, all refreshed from their good night's sleep. Some people had boxes and bags with food and more bottles they put in a designated area for Morag to keep for later.

"So you don't have to cook, dear," Harry heard one family friend say. "You'll need something tonight."

Angus assumed the duties of the host at the collection at one end of the table and sampling from the bottles and jars commenced a little ahead of the uncovering of the bowls and platters of food. Harry saw a tableware emergency looming and summoned Kreacher. The elf outperformed all reasonable expectations once again, reveling in the opportunity for giving his elf magic a serious workout. The post-service reception went on for about two hours. Everyone seemed to be in a mood of respectful calm mixed with joy at having been in Livia's circle of friends and family. They respected her as a witch and marveled at her longevity. Everyone agreed she'd had a good life. There were lots of stories.

Morag took all the encomiums with a little salt. She had to be tolerant. Most of the people present hadn't spent a great deal of time with Livia over the last few years, as Morag had. They didn't see her lying in bed, day after day, barely able to communicate, able to walk outside only with the aid of Morag's arm firmly around her waist. Still, commentary from the likes of Angus were continually lifting the mood.

"She had a good, long life," observed a grand-niece, coming close to quoting Morag. She was with a group standing about in the back yard, respectfully doing their smoking outside, away from the cottage.

"Consternation, Drusilla!" said Angus. "I'VE had a good, long life. Mother had a good, long century. Then she added a long century on top of the good one."

Angus was actually the last of the visitors to leave. He fell asleep at some point, under the morning glories. Morag, Pansy and Harry were the only others left. Pansy looked at Morag, questioning, what to do?

"I am tempted to leave him right there," said Morag.

Angus' great, sawmill-worthy snore provided punctuation.

"I can get Kreacher back and he can take him home with us. I might have to explain to Angus where he is when he wakes up," Harry said.

"Oh, Angus, Merlin love you," said Morag. "Help me get him upright and I'll drop him at his place. Then I'll come back here and we can all go on together."

Harry and Pansy waited under the morning glories while Morag saw her brother home.

"Going to be cooling off," Harry observed.

"I always liked Scotland when we went back to school," said Pansy. She wore a blue blazer over a long pleated gray wool skirt, with everything topped off by a black cape. The air was getting cooler as the afternoon waned, and Pansy snugged her cape a little tighter around her arms and torso.

"The late summer was about gone and the autumn smells were starting to come on. The afternoon light put gilt on everything it touched. I liked to take a blanket outside to the hill and look at all of you flying around at quidditch practice. It all made me feel so magical, like a witch. Even though I'd grown up with a witch and a wizard for parents, with an elf and a manor, something about sitting there with the castle behind me and the quidditch teams flying around on brooms seemed other-worldly to me. Did you ever feel that? Does that even make sense?"

"Of course," Harry said. "That first time when you're little and you surprise yourself with some child magic, how can you not feel that way? Did you wet yourself the first time it happened to you?"

"Harry Potter!" exclaimed Pansy.

Harry started to laugh.

"Me too, if that's any comfort," he said.

"It came and went, though," Harry went on. "The sorting ceremony as a first year was one of those occasions. All fifth year I was definitely in the zone. I became a wizard that year. Dumbledore and McGonagall were boxed in, it was me against Umbridge, or so I thought. When Neville discovered the Room of Requirement and we'd all go in there and duel, and I taught a bunch of people to cast a corporeal patronus, and it was totally underground. That was magical, as magical as it gets. Like we were back in the days of persecution, keeping the craft alive, one step ahead of the witch-hunters."

"Oh," said Pansy, "Oh my. Ah, sorry about that. I, um, was on the other side. Inquisitorial Squad. Working for Umbridge."

"I know," said Harry. "Someone had to be the fox, someone had to be the hounds. Bigger forces were at work. I can see that now. The Squad did well, much better than the Toad deserved. I only wish I'd been able to shape things more competently, to keep the damage minimal, if you know what I mean."

They sat, leaning back on the bench, legs stretched straight out in front, letting the conversation find its own course.

"Why was that your responsibility? You did more than anyone did, Harry," protested Pansy after she'd thought over Harry's comments. "What if Gregory Goyle had been the one to be born with your power and capabilities? Merlin, I hate to think about it."

"You're very kind," Harry said, as Morag arrived, back from her errand.

"Angus down for the night?" Harry asked.

"I got the old reprobate back to his house and propped him up in his favorite chair and he woke up!" Morag said. "Just like that. Demanded to know what I was doing next and I told him I was going down to London and he decided right there that he'd like to come along. The only way I got him to agree to stay where he was, was to promise I'd visit in the next two or three days and we'd plan a trip together. Do you think Neville and Hannah would have a room for him?"

Morag was clearly distressed at the thought of her kilt-clad country bumpkin eighty-year-old brother on the loose in London. Harry was very careful not to show amusement at her plight, nor to make unfillable promises. Still, if Angus MacDougal wanted a holiday in magical London, why not give the old wizard a treat? He probably hadn't had an overabundance of those in his life.

"Tell you what, Morag," Harry began as he stood up. "We'll work with you on it, and we'll support you and Angus in whatever you want to do. Right?"

Pansy nodded.

"Unless he wants to stay with me," she added.

"Well, sure, Pansy," said Morag. "Kind of goes without saying, really."

Pansy brought Morag to the office the next morning. Harry summoned Kreacher and asked for a carafe of coffee and another of tea. He had room for the group so he invited them both in, hoping to develop a little information so he could see if there was a way to help Morag with her transition to her new life. Livia had been her only focus for years, and now that focus was gone.

"What's on the schedule today?" Harry asked, trying to make it sound like a casual inquiry between people who knew one another a bit better than he knew Morag.

"Daphne wanted to talk about work," Morag said. "I don't know what she has in mind. There is healing, and then there is healing. She was telling me about her private practice. I know her patients need a healer as much as anyone else, but it sounds a bit rarefied. Maybe I'm being judgmental. St. Mungo's is different. I had a mentor there while I was working toward my qualifications. It might be better to look there, first."

"Sure, that all makes sense," Harry said. "Don't sell yourself short, though. You're an expert on the elderly witch and wizard, aren't you? Just inside your own family…"

Morag looked up, sharply, and Harry thought he'd given some serious offense. Then she started to laugh, a good, strong belly laugh, holding her coffee mug out over the floor so as not to spill on anyone.

"Nailed it, Harry," she said. "And there are an abundance of those around London, I'd say."

"So true," said Pansy, nodding. She reached over and patted Morag's forearm.

"What are you going to need to be ready to start work?" Harry asked. "I assume you have some things up north you'll be bringing down?"

"Not much," said Morag. "A few clothes. A standard healer's bag, with all the little potion vials and miniature apothecary jars. I could stand to shop, just a few London clothes, but I have to start making some money first."

Harry looked at Pansy, who gave a subtle shake of her head.

"Well, then, later," Harry said, reaching for the dirty china but keeping his eyes on Pansy, who smiled and nodded.

"Lunch at #12?" Harry asked as the witches rose to leave. "Kreacher brought the leftovers there. I need help, and lots of it."

Daphne had worked the three-to-eleven shift at St. Mungo's the night before, so she slept late that morning. Pansy had an owl pecking on her window at ten, though, which must have been late enough because Daphne didn't express any objections when they all congregated at #12 Grimmauld Place at noon. Harry intended to stay out of the way and let Daphne try working some wiles on Morag. Then he'd need to see what it would take to assess Morag's financial situation. Harry didn't know how to go about it, but he wanted to make sure Morag didn't have to live a life of penury while she was getting back on her feet. From what Pansy had told him it sounded like Morag had not had a steady salary coming in for at least the past three years.

Kreacher and Daphne gave Morag the royal treatment at lunch. A number of the mourners sent blocks of cheese in their food packets and there was a choice of domestic and imported wine as well. Morag would take a sip of red, put her glass down, bite into a cracker topped with cheddar, and a snap of Kreacher's fingers saw to the refill. In between Kreacher's ministrations, Daphne leaned toward Morag, patting a hand, laying the tip of her index finger on a forearm, telling an anecdote about a colleague.

"Didn't you say you and Healer Bruce studied together? I saw him just yesterday…," Daphne said, letting the conversation meander.

"…So if you'd like to come on rounds with me tomorrow…," Daphne finished up.

"Daphne, I really so appreciate that," said Morag. "I, uh, do you think the suit I was wearing is acceptable, because I haven't shopped properly, with Mother the way she was."

"Of course, you looked stunning!" said Daphne. "I'll fix you up with a standard jacket for protective coloration if you're worried."

"Can't fault your logic," said Morag. "I would like to do rounds at St. Mungo's again."

Harry signaled for Kreacher to start with some of the proper dishes, the casseroles and pot pies. Morag was solidly-built and used to putting in a long day's work, keeping house for two while providing 24-hour care for Livia. She tried to do justice to all of the dishes Kreacher had brought to London from Livia's cottage, but even she had her limits.

"Enough!" Morag said with a laugh. "I am going to have to make a serious effort to reconfigure my living habits. I could never sit at the table this long before something needed to be done. This is going to require some discipline."

"Take your time," said Harry. "It is all going to fall into place."

"You're sure?" Morag asked, making a skeptical face.

"Of course, Morag," said Daphne. "You've shown you've got it in you."

A number of things did fall into place over the next few weeks. Morag was offered a very agreeable schedule at St. Mungo's, joining Daphne and a few colleagues in the emergency section. Harry and Pansy reinvented the concept of gift cards for the magical world. Harry gave Pansy two hundred galleons. Pansy took one hundred to Madame Malkin and one hundred to Twillfits and Tattings and deposited them so Morag could order some new clothes for herself. Pansy told Morag it was Harry's idea, perhaps a little bent, of a housewarming present.

Morag started saving up to get a flat. Pansy assured her she could stay as long as she wanted. Morag insisted Pansy accept a small contribution, beginning her first payday, for the extra household expenses. Healers are in demand and well-rewarded in the magical world, so it wasn't long and Morag was in a position to rent her own place, a two-bedroom with a fair kitchen and a very nice bath in a good building near St. Mungo's.

Things settled down so satisfactorily that Morag was able to fulfill her promise to Angus to bring him down for a visit. Harry insisted he had more than enough room and needed the company. Angus was thrilled to be staying at #12 Grimmauld Place, legendary London seat of the famous Black clan. Harry thought he would be hosting Angus, who'd be a fish out of water in London, for a week, or less. Harry anticipated a few restaurant meals, a visit to the Leaky Cauldron, perhaps a dinner in Angus' honor. He got a few things right.


	28. Chapter 28

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Twenty-eight

The Seduction of Walburga Black

Angus MacDougal was very handy and an accomplished wizard. He kept busy when left alone at Grimmauld Place by carrying out a thorough house inspection and passing his findings on to Harry. Kreacher showed a little annoyance once or twice, because he perceived Angus to be a busybody who was calling attention to Kreacher's professional shortcomings.

Harry had private talks with both Kreacher and Angus, who made extra efforts to compliment Kreacher on nearly everything more complicated than breathing. Harry strongly urged Kreacher to see Angus as a valued resource for his expertise in buildings and maintenance, since fixing little things when they appear pays big dividends when they don't turn into major structural issues later.

Angus worked his way down to the dungeon at the beginning of his second week in London. He had the grace and good sense to wait until he could get Harry to take him down because he assumed Kreacher would be very sensitive about having such an accumulation of debris in #12.

The plan was to take everything up to the main floor, then out to the garden for sorting. Kreacher's gardening elf colleagues were recruited to assist with trash disposal, in return for a promise of a full day of work in the Potter Manor gardens for each load of trash hauled.

The sorting began as a chore and ended up a treasure hunt. A fine portrait of Walburga, and two young boys, presumably Sirius and Regulus, turned up with a badly damaged frame. No other flaw could be found.

"Odd," said Harry.

"Why didn't they have it reframed?" asked Angus.

They were still in the very dim light in the dungeon and might have been missing something.

"Let's get it up into some better light," Harry said.

"Oh, this feels good!" said Angus, climbing the stairs.

"You're free to levitate or do something else if it would be easier," said Harry. "Don't stand on ceremony."

"Oh, be real, lad," said Angus. "Up and down hill on foot is the best means of travel for any variety of human. I'm having fun. I'll let you know when the props are giving out."

The figures in the portrait started stirring as soon as the portrait reached the kitchen.

"The salon, I think," said Harry. "The light is good this time of day."

They leaned the frame against a chair, taking care not to let the canvas bear any weight.

"Hello," Harry said, addressing the three figures in the portrait. "What a lovely portrait. I recognize you as Walburga Black, and are these young scions your sons?"

Walburga sniffed, looking around in all directions.

"Have we been sold?" she asked, clearly uninterested in answering Harry's question. "This looks like some twee muggle gallery. That fireplace is alright. We had one in our home that looked like it. I hope you sell us to a witch or a wizard, at least. I cannot abide muggles."

"You aren't going to be sold, Madam," said Harry. "We've just brought you upstairs from…the, um…secure storage. We need you here with the family."

"What family?" Walburga asked. "Who are you? What's the address here?"

"You're at #12 Grimmauld Place, London," Harry said, "My name is Harry Potter. I know there have been some changes that might disorient you, so may I suggest you move to your portrait in the front hall and commune with yourself over there? Madam Walburga will be thrilled to see you again, I'm sure."

"Harry Potter? Any relation to that muggle-loving James Potter?"

Sirius started to get jumpy.

"You're Harry?" he asked.

"I am," Harry said. "You and Regulus have portraits in the dining room if you'd like to go over there and catch up. This has been downstairs. Angus and I just brought it up. I don't know how long it's been down there."

"POTTER!" exclaimed Walburga. "What are you doing in #12 Grimmauld Place? I wouldn't let your father cross my threshold and I'm not inclined to allow you to, either."

Harry looked at Angus, who was studying something on the wall that didn't include Harry.

"Madam Walburga," said Harry, "You really are going to have to spend a little time with a portrait who is up to date. So much has changed since you went into seclusion, I'm afraid it's bound to be disorienting."

"Just tell me what you're doing here, Potter!" demanded Walburga.

"Very well, Madam, I am Harry Potter, and I am Lord Black."

"Ahhhhh—iiieeeeeee!" howled Walburga. "How-How?…NO! NEVER! Wand! Wand! Someone give me a wand!"

Angus looked at Harry, shaking his head. His cheeks puffed and he blew his breath out through pursed lips. The old wizard appeared to be steeling himself for something.

"Walburga, be QUIET," said Angus, suddenly the voice of authority. "Please. Now."

"Who are YOU?" demanded Walburga. She might have been a painting but she was snorting and popping like a real thoroughbred. Sirius and Regulus were nearly bouncing up and down. The looks on their faces said they were having the best time ever, watching their mother get more and more wound up.

"Walburga, look at me," said Angus. "It's Angus. MacDougal. I'm alive and I'm right here at #12 Grimmauld Place, in London, with young Harry. Take a good look."

"Angus?" said Walburga, suddenly subdued. Her voice could have been that of a schoolgirl.

"Angus? Oh, Angus, what has happened to you?" pleaded Walburga. "Is this because…"

"Not because anything, Walburga," said Angus. "I've gotten old, that's all. It's been at least forty of fifty years since someone put you away. This is all going to be very confusing for you. No one came to see you in all this time, I gather."

Angus looked at the other portrait of Walburga under its crepe, but the drape was opaque and he couldn't tell if the figure was awake.

"There is so much for you to take in, we have to be careful, Walburga," said Angus, no longer the crusty octogenarian from the other side of Hadrian's Wall. He sounded more like a very considerate friend. He could have been a boyfriend. "None of us are as resilient as we used to be. You don't want to give yourself an overload and go dormant. Young Harry and his bride will need your oversight and guidance, won't they?"

"Oh, Angus, gentle as ever," said Walburga. "You know you were always my favorite suitor, don't you?"

"So you said, Walburga," Angus agreed, "So you said. I believed you, and I still do. Not a single day goes by…And you and I will have to sit down, alone, and have a long, private talk while I'm here. Just not right now, we really do have to be careful with you. Now, Harry, if there is an easel around, we might put Walburga and her lads right here and let them observe the comings and goings and get used to how things look again."

"That's an excellent idea, Angus," said Harry. "Kreacher!"

Within minutes Harry had the Blacks on their easel with a good view of the salon. Sirius and Regulus had shuttled back and forth between the salon and their portraits in the dining room. Sirius and Regulus from the dining room soon lodged their first formal complaint about themselves, causing Harry to have a talk with everyone about the Golden Rule.

"We are young, and so annoying," Dining Room Regulus said.

"So?" said Harry. "How do we learn?"

"Put them away, can't you?" Dining Room Sirius pleaded.

"I'm not sure what the metaphysics of complying with your request would be, Sirius," said Harry. "We're in unknown territory here. Now that you're reconnected, I have to consider the effect on the two of you for anything I might do with or to them. Don't you think? I do have a plan, in the early stages, and I think it will keep everyone out of everyone's hair, if you can just give me a day or two, until I think it over and talk to one or two people. Did you ever learn patience?"

"No," they both said.

"Then we'll all learn together," Harry noted.

That put things to rest, at least temporarily.

"Should we do a bit more, then, Angus?" Harry said, leaving for the stairs without waiting for an answer.

"You know Walburga?" asked Harry when they'd gotten around the corner and headed downstairs.

"Aye," said Angus. "She was a few years ahead of me, but I thought she was the most beautiful witch at Hogwarts. Still do, if you want to know. Of course, she'd have been laughed out of school if she'd taken up with me there, but the year after she finished, Fate threw us together, in an agreeable environment. Summer love! Then her family got her engaged to her cousin and I was out. I went to Hogwarts through my sixth year and that's when I enlisted. It was just after the muggles' second war. We did some colonial garrisons and peacekeeping here and there. I enjoyed soldiering. I liked the travel and it was an agreeable occupation for a Scot. It gave me something to think about besides brooding on my Walburga troubles. Then the muggle Defence Ministry demobilized us in some economy measure or other and just like that I was a reservist, so back I went to a wizard's life in Scotland. Thank Merlin for my baby sister."

"I didn't mean to pry," said Harry. "I apologize if I was excessively forward. Still, what a story."

"The irony hasn't escaped me," Angus drawled.

Harry moved some detritus and pulled out a prize.

"Hmm…silver teapot," said Harry. "Better be careful. _Revelio_."

Harry passed his wand over the ornate teapot and was mildly gratified when nothing happened. Kreacher had rejoined them and was looking on.

"Anything?" Harry asked, offering the teapot to the elf. "Cursed? Jinxed? Remember this piece at all?"

"It is very old, Master," said Kreacher. "Perhaps with some polishing it would be useable. Kreacher does not sense any magic occupying the teapot. Kreacher does not remember seeing it before."

"Take it up, then, why don't you?" said Harry. "I think we've done enough for one day. Angus, what about some lunch?"

Harry was thinking of the Leaky Cauldron, but Angus waved him off.

"My treat," said Angus. "Let me wash up."

Harry suspended judgment while he, too washed up, then met Angus in the foyer.

"Let's floo, Harry," said Angus. They stepped into the fireplace. Angus dropped his floo powder. "Burns," he said.

Harry didn't have time to reflect on the nature of a floo address called 'Burns' before they stepped out of a fireplace in a walnut-paneled salon/dining room. The décor was sparse except for an abundance of portraits. The ancient, overstuffed leather easy chairs looked ready and eager to cradle a wizard for a week, if he had the time. There were a few large portraits of men and women in embroidered robes and conical hats, some holding a wand or a flask, others a book, dividers or a sheet of parchment. Harry formed a tentative working assumption that they were witches and wizards. By extension, Angus must have taken him to a magical club. He wondered if they were still in London.

"You might not know the Sassenach learned how to organize a decent club from the clubmen of Edinburgh," said Angus. "This one is for our sort, wizards and witches, of course. We need a place of respite when we're down here in all the miasma."

Angus gestured toward the largest portrait.

"Our namesake was magical, did you know that?"

"Not to my knowledge," Harry replied. "His poetry is magical, even if I need a translator to understand it. Guess that's logical. You're a member here?"

"The clubs are independent, but we're all correspondents," said Angus. "Is this alright? Ready to sit down?"

"Absolutely," said Harry. He looked around and saw the lounge was separated from the dining tables by the most ephemeral screen, constructed mostly of eccentric, turned dowels. The thing seemed to shimmer, and Harry wondered if it was enchanted or if the turner had simply been skilled enough to bring the effect out of ordinary wood.

"I take it you haven't been here before?" Angus asked.

"Haven't heard of it before," said Harry. "This is really something."

A staffer wearing black trousers, a white shirt, white apron and a black tie, all topped off with a standard black robe, hovered nearby with a pair of menu cards.

"Near the window? Something more private?" asked the waiter.

"Right here is fine with me," said Angus. "Harry?"

"Certainly," said Harry.

They sat down and Harry was pleased to discover a nearby window looked out on a well-tended garden. Harry and Angus ordered and leaned back in their chairs.

"Well, Angus, I had no idea," Harry said. "This has been here all along, right under my nose."

"We learn something every day, if we aren't careful," Angus observed. "I'm so grateful you invited me down to London, Harry. I might have begun to brood on Mother and mortality and all of that if you'd left me alone up there."

"We all need to get broken out of our molds now and then," said Harry. "I'm going to impose on you for a little help with Walburga."

"Happy to do it," said Angus, "Now, about the Blacks…"

Harry had to give Angus an extended briefing on his history with the Blacks, Sirius, Sirius' will, and Harry's descent from Dorea. Angus, in turn, delivered a detailed account of his long infatuation with Walburga and what he had learned of her family through their association.

"Some of them found it hard to swallow, as you would expect, but they all seem to acknowledge me now," Harry said. "I'm still figuring out the house, with Kreacher's help. We just dug those two small portraits out a short while ago. Sirius and Regulus give out the information freely but they died so young they really didn't have a chance to master much of the family magic. They barely touched on the theoretical parts. They know their jinxes, though."

Angus, for his part, was a wealth of information on Walburga, how lovely she'd been when she was younger, then her gradual change to something of a harridan as the result of all the expectations of her parents, who were just passing down the prejudices and bad information they had been spoon-fed by their own parents, and on and on.

"The first time I saw her was at my Sorting Ceremony and I was hooked," Angus said. "How ridiculous is that? At eleven! I guess she was fourteen or fifteen, it's been so long I can't remember if she was three or four years older than me. I just admired her from across the Great Hall at mealtimes, of course. Then, the summer after she finished, she spent several weeks with one of her cousins up my way, and we had a little time together. It started out with a walk. When you walk, you talk. I confessed I had noticed her, and she did the same. What a shock that was."

Angus' voice dropped in volume, but if anything it picked up in intensity.

"It was a revelation. To me, Walburga Black was a goddess, motion picture star and Morgan le Fay, all in one package. Oh, that's my old self speaking, I suppose. She was honest. We had to keep our heads because talks were already underway to marry her to another Black, a second cousin, so she would have to be a loyal wife with no outside interests distracting her from her duty."

Angus stopped to take a long pull on his water tumbler.

"I finished my sixth year, looked around Scotland and didn't see a lot there that would distract me from the Walburga fixation, and enlisted in my regiment. That was probably the smartest thing I've ever done. It got me completely away from Britain and let Walburga settle into the life of a magical London matron. I even got in a bit of field work. Our duties weren't onerous so when I got a little leave I'd go out and scout around for a wizard. Managed to meet at least one every place I went with the Army. I maintain correspondence with several wizards in East Africa to this day. Never completely forgot Walburga, though."

Angus took a piece of bread from the basket.

"I can tell. She never forgot you, either," Harry observed. "Judging by her reaction when you introduced yourself. She completely transformed."

"So she lost her two boys?" asked Angus.

"Yes," said Harry. "Regulus pledged his loyalty to Voldemort, then changed his mind. He died trying to undo something he'd had a hand in. Sirius died in the Department of Mysteries. Some of us were in a little dustup with some Death Eaters and Bellatrix got around his guard. Bitch."

Lunch had arrived and Harry picked up his silverware.

"Walburga was gone by then, of course. Sirius was in Azkaban when she died."

"Shame," said Angus. "Shame. Well, what were you thinking of doing with her? I could see you didn't want to get out ahead of yourself."

"Oh," Harry said. "I've got this country place. It's Potter Manor, came down in the family as those do. The portraits are all Potters and the other ancestral types. I've got one Black, my great-grandmother Dorea. She's great but she was in bad odor with her own generation of Blacks for marrying into the Potters, so she is really more Potter than Black by now. I was thinking if I took this Walburga to the manor I'd have her there to consult with. In case I get caught in a siege or something."

"You couldn't do better," said Angus. "Even in school she was powerful. From the bits and pieces I heard over the years she kept working on her magic. Her portrait probably knows more ways to make an enemy's life miserable than the combination of all the witches living today."

"See?" said Harry. "Just what I need out there. It never hurts to get a second opinion. I'll just be careful where I put her so she isn't lathered up at her neighbors all the time."

The talk went on through lunch, changing directions several times. Angus liked fly fishing for trout and salmon. He forswore using magic to increase his catch. Harry had a stream that was supposed to have trout. Angus quoted some Burns. Harry asked for some more, if Angus could remember any. That got him a squinted eye and excerpts from several poems. Harry confessed a love of Shakespeare, with a special affinity for Macbeth. Angus loved Macbeth as well, with the caveat that the Scotland depicted in the play generally had no bearing on the reality of Scotland. Harry said that stood to reason, the play being a play and not history.

"Ah, but it is history, in its own way," said Angus. "The witch on the left? My several times great-grandmother. Morag's too. Ask her."

He sounded completely sincere.

It was nearly two in the afternoon when they stepped out of the fireplace at #12 Grimmauld Place. Harry looked at the portrait and saw the three Blacks were sleeping. Feeling disappointed in himself for being inconsiderate, he waved a hand at the windows, closing some heavy curtains and plunging the salon into near-darkness. Harry was a bit rueful to admit he had forgotten to take such a simple, Golden Rule action before leaving.

Angus noted that he needed a short nap after lunch to be his best later in the day and went looking for Kreacher. When he found him, he queried the elf on the whereabouts of the hampers of food and beverages they'd brought down from Livia's. Equipped with a glass holding just a finger of amber liquid for swirling purposes, Angus found a comfortable chair in the rear drawing room and sat down with the Daily Prophet.

Harry left Angus to his post-lunch ritual, located Kreacher himself, and advised he'd be at Potter Manor if anyone needed him.

Potter Manor was structurally sound. What it needed more than anything was to be lived in. Little maintenance needs were coalescing and threatening to become projects. The portraits were spending too much time under their drapes, bored, although not bored to death, exactly, since the subjects were already dead, in a metabolic sense.

Harry knew the manor craved residents from his reading of the Potter grimoires. There were no chapters demanding that Lord Potter marry and start a family posthaste, but the implication was there. He was the head of a family, one that had nearly gone extinct, and the family magic wasn't at all shy.

The question was, as it is so many times: "What to do about it?"

Daphne was fine with getting back together. Harry felt, and told Daphne, that he thought of their history as getting started, briefly, then taking something like a gap year to reassess, then getting back together to continue with renewed vigor. Daphne thought that funny. She didn't use the same words as Harry but she said much the same thing.

Daphne was also fine with continuing as they were. They saw one another several times a week. Harry would do domestic things for Daphne, while Daphne prepared a meal for the two of them. They studied family magic together, alternating between the Greengrass and Potter grimoires. It was nice and comfortable. They had each domesticated themselves, or cooperatively domesticated one another, over the past months. Harry didn't feel like pushing Daphne. She thought they were moving forward at a reasonable pace, so he resolved to let her determine their speed. The last thing either of them wanted was to go through another breakup.

That left Harry caught in the middle, between his determination to let Daphne have her head, take all the time they both needed, and start life together on a firm foundation, and the competing desire, almost a compulsion, to make Daphne Lady Potter and emplace her on the throne of his family seat. Then, he felt, they could begin the process of immersing themselves in their ultimate project of melding the Greengrass with the Potter, forging the stronger Damascus blade from the harder and softer steels, loving and being loved in the warmth of their new family.

Of course, Daphne was still fine, at the time of their last, tip-toeing conversation on the topic, with continuing as they were.

Harry walked through the old house, making a list of things to do. Once he completed his circuit, he had a mental list, which he converted to a proper list on parchment that he attached to the wall in the breakfast room, using a handy adhesive charm he'd learned from Hermione. She swore it was non-marking and would not damage any wall surface.

"Right, then," Harry thought. "First things first. Kreacher!"

Harry treated Kreacher to a good two hours of cleaning and minor maintenance. They pre-staged the entire collection of Potter Manor silver in preparation for really extending Kreacher's house elf magic with a mass polishing. Harry checked the completed items off his list.

"That's enough for today, Kreacher," said Harry when he judged they'd done enough. Kreacher tried to conceal his disappointment.

"Give me a chance to talk to Daphne and the others. If I don't have commitments we'll come again tomorrow."

Kreacher brightened up, a lot.

Angus was finished napping when the pair returned to #12 Grimmauld Place.

"An owl brought you something," said Angus, gesturing toward the mantle.

"Oh, it's from Daphne," said Harry as he picked up a small note card. "Feel like going out tonight? With Morag, Pansy and Daphne?"

Angus thought that sounded like a fine idea. Harry responded by owl.

Daphne arrived a bit after five p.m. Morag and Pansy weren't far behind. Harry introduced the witches to the recently-rediscovered Walburga, Sirius and Regulus. Walburga probed a bit and discovered two of the witches had been in Slytherin House. She looked at Harry, her expression frosty, but less frosty than before. Were her fundamental assumptions being challenged by facts?

Going out for something to eat started to get complicated when no one could make a decision on where to go.

"Fine," said Harry at last. "I'll take full responsibility. We are all dressed appropriately for the Dragon, so we're having Asian Fusion tonight."

The Dragon was a fine choice. Angus appreciated noodles and stir-fries and steamed vegetables but those kinds of restaurants were scarce in his part of Scotland. The witches seemed to know someone in every party that came through the door, resulting in a steady stream of visitors to their table. Harry and Angus escaped notice and were free to keep their attention on their plates.

"Excellent decision, Harry," Angus said as they walked toward their apparition point. "Thank-you for dinner."

"Same to you, Angus," said Harry. "Thank-you for lunch."

Morag must have surmised Angus' treat meant they'd gone to the Burns Club because she gave them both a very skeptical look. Apparently, a London club for magical Scots embodied more complications than Morag wanted at lunchtime. Morag and Pansy left for Pansy's flat while Angus and Daphne came back to #12 with Harry. Kreacher hurried through the welcoming formalities to give Harry some actual news.

"Madam Walburga asked for a word with you, Lord Harry, whenever you should return."

Harry looked at his elf, trying to read him. Walburga's portrait in the front hall was behind its crepe. If it awoke behind the drape it could scream and shout but it usually didn't do so. Harry looked into the salon and saw Walburga was wide awake in the portrait on the easel. The boys didn't look happy. Harry wondered what he was facing.

"Madam Walburga, you wanted to speak to me?" Harry asked as he entered. He looked over his shoulder. Daphne and Angus were close enough to listen in. Harry couldn't think of anything he wanted to hide from either of them.

"Potter, put us back, wherever you dug us out from."

Walburga didn't ask, she ordered.

"Madam," said Harry, "We're all cousins. Distant, perhaps. You're family. Sirius even grew up to be my godfather. Did you guys go chat up the portraits over the dining table like I suggested?"

Sirius and Regulus tried to keep the mirth in check but they got huge grins and began some vigorous nodding.

"I'm nauseous, Potter," said Walburga. "This is too much. My other portrait tried to feed me little bits and it was still overwhelming. You're going to take me back and cover me up. I don't think I like this magical world."

Angus moved forward and stood next to Harry. 

"May I?" he asked.

"Sure," said Harry. "I didn't anticipate this."

Harry winked at the portrait Regulus.

"Walburga, what happened to us?" Angus began. "Why didn't we work out? The sweetest weeks in all my long life were the ones I spent with you. I would give everything I own to be able to go back and climb the tor with you just one more time."

"Angus, I had to do my duty," said Walburga, suppressing a little sniffle. "We always knew that. You said you understood. I never forgot you. I just had to be a wife to my husband. Live in this house. Entertain his guests. Bear his children. When you're born to preside over a noble house you put your personal needs aside, for the good of your family."

"How was your husband, as a husband?" asked Angus. "One hears…things."

"He was a chief," Walburga snorted. "It isn't for any of us to judge."

"Boys? Good times?"

Neither said anything. Both looked down.

"Angus MacDougal you will not sow discontent within my family!" shouted Walburga.

Harry looked at Daphne, who was keeping her face as still as marble.

"Exactly," said Angus. "Harry, Lord Black, has need of you, did you know that? You are called upon to do your duty, to your new chief, and to the Blacks. Harry and I had lunch today. We took our time and covered lots of ground. Why don't you tell her, Harry? Walburga, you really need to listen to him."

"Sure," Harry said. "Madam, you're well-represented here, as are Sirius and Regulus. I need some help with the country house my dad left me. Daphne is working on the family magic with me, and the distinguished forebears are up on the walls everywhere you look, but no Blacks. Well, there is supposed to be a portrait of Sirius in one of the bedrooms but I don't know what he brings to the party. Anyway, I'd really treasure your contribution, if you'd consider it. Kreacher and I spent a few hours out there today. Feel free to ask him about it, if you'd like."

Harry glanced at Kreacher, who was swelled up like a soap bubble about to burst.

"Really?" asked Walburga. "You want me to give you a hand at Potter Manor?"

"Do you know it?" Harry asked. "Lovely old pile in Devon, views galore. Gardens. Kreacher has been a big help with his contacts among the gardening elves. We'll probably end up entertaining out there but Daphne has a demanding career and I'll have to pitch in to make it all work. There is only so much I can get from books."

Harry sneaked a look toward Daphne, who was struggling to maintain the marble goddess image.

"Visited once, when Fleamont and Euphemia were alive," she said. Harry guessed she was thinking it over and took a chance.

"Want to see it? Boys, why don't you go visit your portraits over there in the dining room while Mr. MacDougal and I escort your mother to Devon? We won't take long."

Sirius and Regulus fled, almost before Harry finished speaking.

"Daphne, you're from Slytherin so you're culturally attuned to Madam, can I get you, and you, too, Kreacher, to join us?" asked Harry.

Within minutes the party was reconvened in the Potter Manor salon. Kreacher snapped his fingers and the tripod appeared, set up and ready to hold a portrait. Harry gave Walburga a couple of minutes to breathe in the Potter Manor air. Even with the distinguished Potters under their drapes the salon was thick with magic. The oil lamps and the fire in the fireplace created a proper setting for an interview with his lordship. Harry looked at Daphne, who stood with eyes closed, arms at her sides, her right hand holding her wand. Now and then her right hand gave a twitch and the wand tip wobbled as if Daphne were casting. Harry judged the Potter magic was sufficiently engaged, so he gave it its head.

Harry thought of something Angus had said when they'd just brought the portrait upstairs.

"Daphne," he said, very softly, "Please walk with me."

Harry held out his hand, Daphne laid hers in his and smiled.

"My lord," she whispered.

"Did you get the gist, when Angus and Walburga were talking back in London?" Harry asked. They'd arrived in the breakfast room. Harry lit two lamps and wanded the drapes off of his parents.

"It's dark out," said James.

"What time is it, Harry?" asked Lily. "Oh, Daphne!"

"Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter," said Daphne. She gave them the same nod, with the glance up through the eyelashes that always threw Harry.

Harry cast a _muffliato_.

"Not that late," said Harry. "Ten?"

Daphne nodded.

"We found a portrait of Walburga with Sirius and Regulus at #12 Grimmauld Place. It was down in the dungeon under a ton of trash, but still in great shape. Well, except for the frame. It looks like someone tried to blast something, or someone, nearby and took a chunk out. If it can't be repaired we can take it to a framing shop. Walburga is fifty years behind times, or forty, anyway. She asked to be put away. This world is too much for her. Luckily, an old boyfriend was staying with me and they're having a catching-up talk in the salon. I'd like to convince her to join us here. We've got Potters and Peverells and even Grandmother Dorea but Walburga would do so much for us. Her two portraits could go back and forth between here and Grimmauld Place anytime. That could be a real asset. A livesaver, in an emergency."

"Good thinking, Harry," said James.

"I'll say," said Lily. "You're thinking like a wizard, Harry."

Daphne couldn't hold it in any longer.

"He is, isn't he?" she said. The cool healer was gone, replaced by a slightly gushy, giddy girlfriend. "We've been reading family grimoires. He's amazing, such an aptitude."

"Grimoires?" said James, making no attempt to conceal his surprise. "So you two are…engaged?"

"Not just yet," said Harry. He looked at Daphne for a little help, which was not forthcoming. "We've a bit on our plates, which we're working through. It will all get resolved. Too many things going on, Daphne's practice, et cetera, et cetera. However, we do have an agreement to talk about some things, soon. And, as long as I've got Daphne here, I'd like to be a bit bold and ask if she is comfortable with us acknowledging we are each other's intended?"

"I can live with that," said Daphne. "Until it's formalized, then, you'll be referred to as such. 'This is Harry Potter, my intended.'"

"Finally," said Harry, sighing. "Boyfriend was becoming stale. It's almost juvenile."

Angus found his way out to the breakfast room, so Harry took off the _muffliato. _

"She's coming around," said Angus.

"Angus MacDougal, my parents, James and Lily Potter," said Harry, giving the portraits a wave.

"Such an honor to meet Harry's parents," said Angus. They couldn't shake so Angus dispensed bows to each of them.

"Likewise, Mr. MacDougal," said James. "How did you happen to meet Harry and Daphne?"

"Oh, do we have time?" asked Angus.

"Short version, Angus has a healer sister who is a Hogwarts classmate," said Harry. "Daphne is trying to recruit her to come be a London healer. We met through Morag."

Compliments flew every which way. James blinked at Harry's summary. Harry figured, correctly, that James was looking at Harry and Daphne and trying to put a classmate in the slot of a sister of Angus.

"Ready?" asked Harry.

"I think you might be able to close the deal," Angus said.

Harry looked at Daphne, who looked eager to get going on the next step of Harry's project.

The three of them walked back to the salon.

"Where do you propose to put us?" Walburga demanded, dispensing with preliminaries.

"I was thinking the dining room," said Harry. "I don't think there is anyone in there who would give you heartburn. The small portraits are in the dining room at Grimmauld Place and I like seeing them, don't you, Daphne?"

"Oh, absolutely," Daphne said. "Young Sirius and Regulus are delightful dinner companions. Such manners! The best of the old nobility's grace and charm."

Daphne, the pureblood Slytherin probably had Walburga Black in the palm of her hand right there, but everyone continued negotiating, for appearances' sake.

"Mmm…" said Walburga. "Muggles. I have a low tolerance."

Harry thought Walburga's tolerance for muggles was far below 'low' so he decided to proceed with caution.

"True muggles, meaning no magic, not even a squib? Those ought to be very rare. What do you think, Daphne?" asked Harry.

"Oh, I can't think of any, on short notice, perhaps if…No, can't think of anyone," Daphne finished.

"Good," said Walburga. "For the life of me I can't understand some of the young witches and wizards. Fascinated by muggle culture. Name one muggle contribution to civilization that a wizard could truly appreciate."

Harry took Walburga's rhetorical question at face value, not thinking before he spoke.

"The White Album," he said.


	29. Chapter 29

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Twenty-nine

One Step Closer

Harry's party returned to #12 Grimmauld Place and set Walburga, Regulus and Sirius up on their easel in the salon. Kreacher wanted to make everyone tea. Harry and Angus sat at the plank table in the kitchen. Kreacher had put the newly-discovered silver teapot down there and hadn't gotten back to it. Harry passed his wand over it several more times, without getting any indications the teapot was cursed or jinxed. Angus held out his hands.

"Can I take a look?" he asked. Angus immediately turned the teapot over, being careful to keep the cover closed, and inspected some marks on the bottom.

"These will tell you a lot," Angus said, showing them to Harry. "Maker and year, at minimum."

Daphne had taken her tea and joined Walburga in the salon.

"You're a Greengrass?" Walburga asked.

"Yes, Madam," said Daphne. "My parents are Cyrus and Cordelia. I don't know if you ever met them."

"Do you have an Aunt Matilda?" asked Walburga. "One of my classmates had a younger sister named Cordelia."

"I have a Great-Aunt Matilda," said Daphne. "Matilda Wainscott. Mother wouldn't have been her sister. She's her niece. Now she's Cordelia Greengrass."

"That would be the one, then," Walburga said. "You're really dating me."

"How interesting that you and Angus met up again, here in your home," said Daphne.

"Isn't it your home now?" Walburga objected, flaring just a little.

Daphne craned her neck. She didn't see anyone, but just to be sure, she stood, crossed to the doorway, and looked down the hall.

"Not just yet," she said, sitting back down. "Harry and I have talked, a bit, just not quite at the length I'd like. We're both involved in some business things right now, which I'd like to be finished with before, we get to…Anyhow, we've agreed we're each the other's intended."

"That's not good enough!" huffed Walburga. "He'd better ask, the sooner the better. A witch like you won't be available for long. Do you want me to have a talk with him?"

Daphne caught Sirius rolling his eyes and stifled a laugh.

"It's not like that, Madam," she said. "It's me. I'm a healer. I'm emancipated. I make my own money. I've even got a flat of my own. If I told Harry I was ready to have our serious discussion, the one we've been putting off, my guess is he would propose in under five minutes. I do love him, and I love my independence. I can't reconcile those just yet."

"Have you told him?" asked Walburga.

"Not in so many words," answered Daphne.

Walburga stared out of her portrait, straight into Daphne's eyes. Sirius and Regulus, to Walburga's right and left, each looked away, somewhere, at neither Daphne nor their mother.

"Daphne Greengrass," Walburga said. "I won't interfere in your life. Just let me observe, for your consideration: Love unexpressed is love withheld. I think that is all I have to say on the matter."

Walburga's hands appeared on her boys' shoulders and she pulled them tight to her as they turned to once again face forward. In life, Regulus and Sirius may have given the impression they were full of devilry, but the smiles they gave Daphne right then were angelic.

Daphne could see Walburga was ready for a rest. There weren't any drapes around so Daphne conjured one to give the Blacks a little privacy for sleeping. After laying it as gently as she could across the damaged frame, Daphne put out the lights and tiptoed from the salon, following the sound of men's voices.

"Daphne!" Harry said, when she got to the kitchen. "Look at this."

He held out the silver teapot. Daphne wasn't eager to take it from him until Harry assured her he and Angus had checked it, carefully.

"We've cast everything we can think of and it looks fine to us," Harry said.

"Fine, eh?" Daphne said as she took the teapot from Harry. She turned it over and looked at the stamps in the bottom.

"Seventeenth century…Merlin! I guess that's fine."

"It was a bit of a treasure hunt," Harry said, Angus nodding along.

"If this turns out…well, however it turns out, I guess you men did well today. Very, very well indeed. I wonder if the Blacks had a guide to the silversmiths' marks around here. You'll have to look on the shelves tomorrow," said Daphne.

"Oh, youngsters, this has been quite a day," said Angus, getting up from the bench. "Harry, I thank you for the hospitality, but I am inclined to go home tonight and sleep in my own bed. Can't wear out my welcome, now that I know you and Walburga are down here."

"Nor have you, Angus," said Harry. He got up with his guest. Daphne continued to study the silversmith's marks.

"Daphne," said Angus, "I'll take my leave."

"Angus, I'm so happy we got to meet you," said Daphne. "Come see us whenever you can. Morag will want you here, too."

Angus went with Harry to the second drawing room, which also had a fireplace.

"Thank-you for everything, Angus," Harry said. "We'll work through your to-do list for the house and alert you when we get near the end."

Angus chuckled.

"I'll try to be more sensitive where your elf is concerned, Harry," said Angus. "He's taking a lot of pride in his work, and it shows. The last thing I want to do is hurt his feelings. He is a real craftsman."

Angus dropped his floo powder and disappeared in the green flames. Harry was sorry to see him go. Angus had lived alone for decades. He knew how to take care of himself. Angus was very good at living life without making a huge mess to clean up afterwards, a skill that Harry worked at constantly. Harry made a mental note to invite Angus down from Scotland at least quarterly. Angus obviously had lots of life skills to pass along, life skills that Harry wanted to learn.

Harry wandered back to the kitchen, looking for Daphne. She was standing with Kreacher, who was pouring hot water for a fresh pot of tea. Harry saw they had a tray, cups, saucers and a bowl of sugar cubes ready to go.

"One more cup of tea?" asked Daphne.

"Love some," said Harry. "Where?"

"Anywhere," Daphne answered. "You choose."

"Second drawing room?" suggested Harry.

"Sure, go on and sit down," said Daphne.

Harry decided Daphne must have been keeping an eye on the steeping tea as she entered the drawing room a few minutes later. It would have been just like the habitually-precise Healer Daphne to cast a tempus charm and watch the seconds tick down for a perfect cup of tea.

Daphne put her tray on top of an etagere that stood against a wall, then filled the two cups.

"Having sugar tonight?" she asked.

"I'll skip," Harry said. "It's late. We don't actually need sugar, apparently. As a necessary nutrient, that is."

"Do you harbor a secret desire to join the ranks of healers, Lord Harry?" Daphne teased.

Harry just looked at her and smiled.

"No," he said. "I already have one."

Daphne gave a little jerk as Harry's comment sank in. She handed him his teacup and saucer, returning to the tray for hers. Picking it up, she returned to Harry's easy chair and lowered herself to the carpet. Daphne laid an arm over Harry's legs. They sipped their tea, not talking, enjoying the silence and the agreeable company. After some very pleasant minutes of wordless communion, Daphne put her cup and saucer on the floor, out of the way. She raised up onto her knees in front of Harry and took his cup and saucer away, putting them with hers.

"You do have a healer, Harry," Daphne began. She leaned forward, against his knees. Daphne let her hands drift up the sides of Harry's thighs until they found his hands, which she squeezed, hard.

"You have done everything a gallant magical lord can do, as a champion, for me, and my sister, even my parents. You shielded me with your own body when another wizard cast the killing curse at us. You presented me to the sacred portraits of the Potter family in your family seat. You allowed me to study your family grimoires, and you study mine. Our family magicks are integrating. Can you feel them when you make love to me?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Stronger and stronger. I wondered if you could feel them. How long does that go on?"

"As long as we love one another and are faithful, I believe it grows and grows."

Harry was staring into Daphne's eyes. He unclasped her left hand and slid his right into her hair, feeling the waves ripple across his fingers, touching her scalp with his fingertips, memorizing the rise and fall, her scent and the texture of her hair.

"It's been three months since you found me in the coffee bar," Harry said.

"And two days," added Daphne.

"Long enough to know," Harry said.

"Oh, I certainly do think so," said Daphne. "I had a talk with Walburga earlier and she said she wouldn't interfere in my life, but she wanted to pass something on, for me to think about. 'Love unexpressed is love withheld,' she said. I won't withhold mine any longer. I love you Harry. I love you. There, done."

She took his hands, both of them, and brought them to her lips.

"Daphne," Harry whispered. He closed his eyes and knew only two sensations: Daphne's lips on his hands, and the bursting of his chest as his own love for Daphne fought to get out.

"Oh, Daphne. I love you, too, Daphne. More every day."

Harry leaned forward and buried his nose in her hair, breathing in, kissing the top of her head. At some point he slid out of the chair, onto his knees on the floor. He took Daphne in his arms and gave her a long, long kiss on the lips. Their tongues found each other, little bit by little bit, drawing things out, taking their time, little coos from Daphne and guttural murmurs from Harry added for mutual encouragement, until they finally got to a full-on proper snog. When they pulled back a little, to catch their breaths, they stayed there on their knees, embracing, eyes staring into eyes. Whispered 'Love you' was answered with 'Love you too,' while hands moved up to touch cheeks, then around back to clinch while their torsos traded warmth.

Eventually, Harry loosened his arms and slowly leaned back.

"When you said we could be intendeds," Harry began.

"Uh-huh?"

"I wanted to…A proper engagement ring ought to mark a proper engagement, it seems to me, but I wanted…The thing is, a few days ago I went to the Potter vault and looked through the old jewelry, and I found something, and I've been waiting for the appropriate occasion to give it to you. You can wear it on your right hand, if you want to reserve your left," said Harry.

He stood and took a small box off the mantle, then returned to the floor in front of Daphne.

"Daphne Greengrass, will you do me the honor of wearing this ring in recognition of the things we just said? I've been waiting and hoping to get to this moment for years, and I thought it could never happen. I'd reconciled to living life alone, with an unfilled space inside, then you came out of nowhere and fit the space perfectly, more than perfectly. I feel complete, for the first time in my life I feel like a complete person. I never want to forget the night you confessed you love me."

Harry opened the box and showed the ring to Daphne. It was a sapphire, square cut, in a gold setting. The stone had enough facets to be interesting, but not overly busy. Harry plucked the ring from the box and held it out, waiting for Daphne to present her hand. She did, her right. Harry compared the ring to her fingers, trying to gauge which would be the best fit. Daphne was ready to try her little finger when she had a thought, and stiffened.

"Oh, Harry, before we, well, did you cast a _revelio_? Or anything else, for that matter?"

"NO! Oh, Daphne, this could have been a disaster!" Harry exclaimed, his embarrassment showing on his reddening face.

Daphne started laughing.

"WHAT?" Harry demanded.

"It's just…It's just…the look on your face!" Daphne managed. "It's fine, let's just do it and then we can go ahead."

Two competent magicals, one witch and one wizard, one Gryffindor and one Slytherin, used their wands and multiple charms looking for any sign of dark or dangerous spells, hexes or jinxes on the ring, but nothing turned up.

Harry looked at Daphne and picked up the ring again.

"Ready?"

"Yes, yes, yes, let's!" said Daphne. Harry held her hand and Daphne raised her little finger. The ring fit perfectly.

"Ohhh…" said Daphne. "I adore it. It's perfect, look at the proportions, and how it looks on my hand! It's charmed, I felt it adjust itself. What do you know about its history?"

"Just this little note from inside the box," Harry said, holding out a slip of parchment.

"Iolanthe's ring," Daphne read.

"Iolanthe Peverell married my several times great-grandfather Hardwin Potter. Centuries ago," Harry said.

"Makes sense," said Daphne. "It does look very old."

She threw her arms around Harry's neck and gave him another kiss on his lips.

"The night we declared our love," she whispered in his ear. It sounded like a giggle was trying to escape.

"Memorialized," said Harry. "Whenever you wear it, I'll see it and think of this moment. I do love you. Sincerely."

"I love you," said Daphne. "You'll give me a little time to become accustomed to all of this, won't you?"

"We'll both be adjusting, I think?" Harry asked. "I'm fine with this. With you. Everything. No need to rush. You fought for your independence, risked rupturing family ties for it. Enjoy it a little longer. You'll know. So will I. Meanwhile—"

Harry brought the back of Daphne's right hand to his lips.

(((***)))

_Author's Note: Many thanks to everyone who has taken the time to leave a note after reading. It is nice to hear from a reader who says they enjoyed a chapter. _


	30. Chapter 30

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Thirty

Finally

The last light was fading as Pansy Parkinson and Morag MacDougal left the offices of Harry Potter and Associates and struck out for the Dragon.

"How's work?" asked Pansy.

"Different," answered Morag. She'd come straight from St. Mungo's to pick up Pansy. "I like the structure. Mother, Merlin bless her, was conscious about eight hours a day. She might not say anything for an hour or two, or she might want to talk an hour straight. I didn't have any time off. This is completely different. They have me in admissions, doing exams and taking down histories. I like it. I go to work, meet people, have interesting conversations, and I come home."

"Great," said Pansy. "Up north?"

Morag had worked out an arrangement with St. Mungo's and the Ministry-supported clinic where she had worked before Madam Livia became her full-time occupation. She worked three days a week in London and two and one-half days at the clinic.

"Going well," said Morag. "Primary, patient-contact healing. I'm trying to catch up on my reading. I didn't think about the journals when I was with Mother. Healing moves ahead constantly. One can't just take a few years off and come right back."

"You can do it," said Pansy. "Everything you had to do to get your mastery? I still wonder about you. How did you do all of that? I feel like a slacker, a lay-about."

"Stop," Morag protested. "You have more courage in your little finger than I do in my whole body."

Pansy had shared her flat with Morag until Morag's salary started coming in. They had had several long, catch-up conversations. Pansy wasn't ashamed of what had been done to her, nor what she had done while she was drinking. She freely admitted she had suffered damage and taken an inappropriate route to fixing it. Pansy found a more productive path by admitting her dependency on alcohol, conducting a merciless self-assessment, working each issue she wanted to change until she got it right, and completely re-wired herself. Morag knew from her own experiences that Pansy was an exception, not a rule. Pansy had it in her to do anything she wanted, as long as she stayed sober.

"Thanks, love," said Pansy.

Little by little, during the time they shared the apartment, Morag and Pansy had become friendly enough that such terms of endearment crept into their personal conversations. Neither one overdid it, nor did they shy away. They were comfortable together.

"Here we are," said Pansy.

The Dragon was not yet full so they were seated immediately. Their tastes were similar and they had settled on a standard meal—vegetable lo mein, stir-fried pea pods with black and white mushrooms, vegetable fried rice and two spring rolls. They took turns serving, one tablespoon of the fried rice on each plate from Pansy, one apiece of the pea pods and mushrooms from Morag, and so on.

They talked a bit over dinner, but they were efficient. Neither was a habitual time-waster. When they finished their meals they each took a last cup of tea.

"Going home?" asked Pansy.

"Uh-huh," said Morag, looking at her watch. "Getting up and going to Glasgow tomorrow."

They left the restaurant for their apparition point.

"Bye, then," said Pansy. "Let's do something again when you get back."

"We'll do that," Morag agreed. Then she half-turned and was gone.

Morag was the first close friend Pansy had made, other than Harry, since Hogwarts. The long, dim tunnel commencing with the events of their sixth year, the lost months of Pansy's walk on the wild side, her struggle with recovery and finally finding refuge as an Associate of Harry Potter, had all combined to distance her from most of the people with whom she'd gone to school.

Pansy enjoyed having a friend again. She and Harry were close. They were bound to be in light of their shared history. Still, both were very careful about boundaries. Harry respected Pansy's privacy, to the degree that she would not have been comfortable opening up to him about the things one holds most closely. Pansy knew Harry's history, and that he kept a lot of his experiences to himself. Having personally witnessed Harry dispense justice, according to his own code, Pansy respectfully kept her knowledge under wraps.

Morag wasn't there yet, either, but she had potential. Pansy knew healers were accustomed to keeping to themselves the things they learned in confidence.

Morag, for her part, felt deep gratitude toward Pansy and Harry. When Harry asked Pansy to drop in on Morag, just to make sure she was alright and not in need of anything they could provide, Morag had been seeing Livia through a long, lingering decline. Morag's care for her mother had made the old lady's last years as pleasant as they could be, considering Livia's circumstances. Morag, though, had been in a kind of suspended animation. She had one patient and no contact with professional colleagues. She thought, at the beginning, that she would care for Livia for a few months, or a year at most. She'd been with Livia nearly three years.

Morag credited Harry, Pansy and Daphne with her transition from rural eldercare specialist back to a practicing healer. By extension, they were responsible for her successful re-entry into the society that was Magical Britain. She hadn't stopped to make plans when she had Livia as her primary consideration. When Livia died and Morag was without a job or a home, her classmates closed ranks and took care of her. Morag vowed she would never forget. Harry and Daphne, especially Daphne, were critical to Morag's smooth transition. Daphne knew St. Mungo's needed healers and made the connection that brought Morag to London, a job and a flat. When Livia released her, Morag's friends brought her straight into their ranks, stood her up on her feet and steadied her until she regained her balance.

Activity was picking up at Potter and Associates. The partnership with Neville and the new building kept everyone focused. Harry continued to ask Pansy if she had any leads for a potential occupant for the ground floor space, as well as the basement. Pansy continued to look. The commercial space was perfect. The open question remained, "Perfect for what?"

The new building faced onto a passageway formed by the fronts of several structures. The buildings had shops on the street level and offices or flats on the floors above. The sides facing the passage were the magical faces of the buildings. On one side the buildings' rear sides faced a Muggle London street. The location was perfect for people who had to interact with the magical and muggle aspects of metropolitan life.

At the same time, Harry and Pansy had been unsuccessful in identifying a business to occupy the ground floor space. The passage had a pleasant coffee-and-news stand with a small magical bookstore next door. The two even had a door between the spaces. The two businesses had loyal, overlapping clienteles, who returned again and again to purchase a book or periodical and a cup of coffee, then sat and enjoyed both at leisure. The space wasn't big enough to be a proper pub. Magical tailoring needs were well-met by the community in Diagon Alley. The space in the all-magical passage would be best occupied by a magical business, but Harry Potter and Associates was running out of ideas.

"How about a tea room?" Pansy asked.

"What would a tea room require?" asked Harry. "I don't know the first thing. Water. Something to heat it with, or in."

"That's two things right there," said Pansy. "A selection of teas. Tea pots. Cups. A drawer with a box inside, with a lid, for the cash. That's pretty much it, isn't it?"

"Darn close, I'd say," said Harry. "That's a big space, though, for a couple of people sipping tea."

"Uh-huh," said Pansy. "There isn't any law that says you couldn't divide it and turn the rest of it to other purposes."

Harry thought about that.

"What would work with a tea room?" he asked.

"Herbalist? A section with more specialized publications. Things for particular tastes, pastimes, avocations, like runes, seers, magical nutrition," Pansy said. She stopped to think those things through. "Alchemy?"

"Did you know the muggles have shops that cater to travelers?" Harry asked. "They sell luggage, specialized guidebooks for different cities and countries, power adapters…"

"So?" Pansy said. "Muggles have to fly on those mechanical contrivances and worry about the different brands of electricity on the other side of the planet. How would we find a market for that in a magical building?"

"Wizards travel," said Harry. "What's that magical travel magazine?"

"There are two that are pretty well-known—_Port Key_, and _Disapparations_," Pansy said. A light came on.

"Oh, the kinds of things in their ads!" she said. "The guidebook to spells you can or can't use in one country or another. Magical maps. Guides to the dominant and minority religious groups in different places, so you know, just in case."

"Wand waving is prohibited in Be-Bop-A-Lula," said Harry. "That's just a hypothetical, of course."

"Of course," Pansy agreed. "I did grasp that."

"Okay, do we know anyone who is in the tea shop business?" Harry asked.

"Um, I didn't come prepared…" said Pansy.

"That's okay, this is still speculation," Harry said. "What else?"

"Some coffee shops have bookshelves," said Pansy. "They put a few old books out and people are free to take one or come in with their own books and donate them or swap for something that's there. What if the tea shop encouraged that? It could even go along with the specialized idea. A shelf for alchemy, another for travel."

"Unusual magical gifts," Harry said. "A children's alchemy lab, everything you need to turn lead into gold in one box. All the Newt Scamander books. The magical travel books. _Gulliver's Travels."_

"Uh—I don't know if that was really magical," Pansy said.

"I've never seen it documented, one way or the other," Harry noted. "Still, if it could be magical, and you can't tell, it follows that it makes its own magic, doesn't it? Seems to me, anyway."

"Point," conceded Pansy. "Do you want me to do a little research on tea rooms? See what it takes to start one up, a budget for a basic kit, other magical tea shops in London or the suburbs?"

"You're a true self-starter," said Harry. "Let's do those things you just mentioned, then we can come back to the other possibilities. Merchandise, and so on."

Harry felt like he was on a roll. He didn't know what that meant, exactly, but he understood it had something to do with a series of good outcomes.

The real estate was part of it, but foremost in his mind was his joint project with Daphne to get the Greengrass finances on a more responsible footing. Once Harry had Daphne, and then Cordelia on his side, Cyrus seemed content to sit back and let the triumvirate run things. Harry wondered if Cyrus had found personal finances tedious and not really worth his time.

Daphne's financial workout plan was a success from the beginning. Harry relieved the Greengrass family income stream of the burden of the mortgage on the manor and the farmland that should have supported it. Cyrus and Cordelia lived on their allowance. Astoria tried to pitch in, moderating her 'suggestions' for pre-wedding shopping and hospitality. Daphne had her own responsibilities but she contributed a bit from her personal funds to make sure Astoria and Draco had a respectable courtship by magical nobility standards. Harry and Daphne ruled with a light touch, but neither Cyrus nor Cordelia nor Astoria doubted they could apply a heavier hand if necessary.

Harry's initial assessment proved prescient. There actually was sufficient Greengrass income for living expenses and debt retirement, once the great dead weight of the mortgage was lifted. Daphne identified underutilized assets and began selling them for cash or turning them into profit-making enterprises. One piece of rental property had been bringing in the same amount for decades, despite the incremental tax increases and rising value of the underlying land. Harry arranged for a fresh appraisal by one of the goblins' experts. He recommended selling the property outright. Daphne thought it worth holding onto, gradually increasing the rent until the income reflected the current value.

Harry pointed out that the renter (it was a commercial building with a single tenant) would almost certainly find any increase a burden. After all, he had had decades to get used to the very low rent and would have figured that into his overhead. Better to put the building on the market after offering the tenant the opportunity to buy the building outright.

"I'd buy it, if it weren't for the conflict of interest," Harry said.

"What conflict?" asked Daphne.

"You and me," said Harry. "We're compromised. It would always look like I did just what Cyrus accused me of doing. Manipulating you to pick off the low-hanging fruit. That's not something I want to do."

"Not arguing, Harry, but don't some of these operators do that kind of thing all the time?" Daphne asked.

"Yes, they do," said Harry. "Muggles, wizards, it doesn't matter. Speculation becomes an obsession. Some of the things you read or hear about, it isn't like they're human anymore. That's not for me. If you want to hang onto the building and try to get the rent back up to market rates, I'll help. Just be sure you anticipate a little pushback and are prepared to insist you're sticking to your position."

The solution turned out to be somewhere in the middle. Daphne met with the occupant and made her case. The rent was far below the market, mainly because no one had looked closely as the value increased. Daphne wasn't trying to recoup, but the Greengrass family would be gradually increasing the rent until the property was bringing in the fair market value.

The renter became dramatic, citing the long relationship between himself and Cyrus, his history as a caretaker, and more. Daphne listened patiently and strategically before offering the alternative course of letting the renter buy the building. Harry and his appraiser had a solid grounding for the price, and the renter knew it. He gulped once or twice, then asked for two days to consult with his lender. He came back with a pro forma counteroffer so close to the asking price that Daphne agreed to it, just to close the deal.

"Brilliant," said Harry, raising his coffee mug. Daphne blushed. Harry thought she was quite fetching, her professional dress and demeanor accented with a rosiness of cheek befitting a schoolgirl being praised before the entire class.

"Thank-you," said Daphne. She'd tipped her face down and forward to look back at Harry through her eyelashes. Harry couldn't help it if his brain went blank. Daphne devastated when she did that.

They were sitting in Harry's office at Harry Potter and Associates, post-Gringotts. After several months of research and negotiations Daphne had just retired a significant chunk of the Greengrass debts by selling the building and turning the cash straight over to the goblins for debt retirement. Harry was very proud of his intended, who had taken the lead and done all the work throughout. Even though Harry had supplied an idea along the way, it was truly Daphne's deal and she deserved to feel proud of herself.

"I'm talking out of school, Harry, but I honestly believe Father had forgotten all about that building," Daphne said. "According to Gringotts' documents, he inherited it. They didn't have it under active management, they just received the rent and deposited it in his account. No one brought it to his attention for all these years."

"Is he showing any interest when you bring those kinds of things up?"

"Oh, he can carry on a conversation," answered Daphne. "He's just detached. He gives the impression he would like to be doing something else. I had figured this process would end and he'd be back in charge, eventually. Now I'm wondering."

"How is Cordelia?" Harry asked.

What he meant was, "How is Cordelia's drinking?"

"Good days and less good," said Daphne. "I've offered to connect her with people in the field, but she isn't ready. Says she can work it out on her own. I don't know…Maybe she can."

"Maybe she can," Harry agreed. "Maybe she's going to follow your lead, straight to adulthood. Maybe she is the manager the Greengrass family has been looking for."

"Could be," said Daphne. "Can I change the subject?"

"I don't see why not," answered Harry.

"You need to increase your study time, Lord Harry," said Daphne. "Specifically, the entries in your grimoire by and about Iolanthe Peverell and Hardwin Potter. Your ancestors have some interesting history. This beautiful ring was Iolanthe's, and a gift from Hardwin. It is charmed, although I still can't say what all is embedded in it. The grimoire mentions long life and happiness, although those are more sentiments than actual charms. Whatever it has must be beneficial, or at least harmless, or I'd be showing signs of some hex or other."

Harry didn't know whether to laugh at Daphne's description or thank her for the useful information.

"Had I known," Harry began.

"Exactly," said Daphne. "No harm done, this time. Just remember in the future. Your grimoires may be the most valuable thing you own. More than Potter Manor, more than #12 Grimmauld Place. A smart, accomplished wizard, someone like you, could lose everything. If he had his grimoires, he'd be back on his feet in a year."

Harry didn't say anything, he just sat there thinking over what Daphne had said. It was true that Harry had come late to the study of Potter Magic and the contributions of all the other family lines that had culminated in him. His first eleven years had been a magical blank. Hogwarts was filled with magical children who assumed he knew all the magical esoterica, since he was Harry Potter and the son of two of the best-known practitioners of the previous generation. Albus Dumbledore had a habit of putting himself between Harry and any sort of magical knowledge other than the standard school of magic curriculum. Study of Your Own Family Grimoire did not appear on Hogwarts' list of available courses.

There were sound reasons for that, Harry well understood. Some of the magical families reveled in their Dark reputations, collecting cursed artifacts and proscribed texts. They wouldn't permit the children to bring their grimoires to Hogwarts and Hogwarts would not have wanted some of them anywhere on the property. Without a doubt, mere knowledge of some volumes would entail an obligation to come forward and give a statement to the authorities.

"You're right," said Harry, emerging from his reverie. "I will do better. I very nearly put Iolanthe's ring on your finger, before you had the presence of mind to stop me. I'll think about that, and this conversation, and see if I can't cultivate a habit of looking such things up from now on. How do you like your ring, now that you've worn it awhile?"

"I still adore it," said Daphne. "I'm connected to you, and at least one of your distinguished ancestors as long as it is on my finger, aren't I? I'm going to be in the literature looking for anything I can find on whether that establishes a mystical connection. At any rate, you took the time to visit your vault and pick out a historical piece from your family jewelry and you gave it to me to mark a beautiful moment. Whenever I notice Iolanthe's ring is on my finger I remember."

Harry wasn't sitting across his desk from Daphne. They each occupied one of the visitor's chairs. Harry slid forward to the very edge of his and reached for Daphne's hand. He drew them closer and gave her a brief kiss on her lips.

"That is so…" he began, speaking barely above a whisper. Harry slid back into his chair.

"You did great with your real estate deal," Harry said. "We need to review everything and see where the accounts stand. We may be closer to concluding our business than we know. Then we can, if you want to, talk about, ah, the other."

Daphne rolled her eyes.

"We can talk anytime you want, Harry," she began. "We've done all the traditional rituals, adapting for our particular circumstances. You've met my parents and I've met yours. You and I read our grimoires together and talk about what we've learned. We declared our love and you gave me a ring to wear to distinguish me from every other witch in creation. Betrothals are a bit passé these days, particularly for those of us old enough to have established careers. The only other thing left to do is to send the announcement to the Prophet."

"Oh," said Harry. He was rolling the last exchange around, trying to penetrate the layers of meaning. "So I can think about us as a permanent thing? An item?"

"You haven't been?" asked Daphne, sounding a bit demanding.

"I have, ever since you said you'd wear my ring, but I've also been keeping it to myself," said Harry. "In light of business first, personal later, and respect for your independent streak. Hence my curiosity about your progress. It would be nice if the business were done, complete, cleared away."

"I see," said Daphne. "That's good, then, because I've been thinking about us as an item as well. I've been working hard on forming an idea of how I will function as I am now with the additional duties that will come with…"

Daphne was stumped, or so it appeared to Harry. He tried to help.

"The M word?" he suggested.

"Exactly, thank-you," said Daphne.

Conversation stopped. Harry looked at the ceiling. Daphne picked up one of Harry's business cards and held it between her thumb and middle finger, fidgeting, twirling it around and around. Harry sneaked a look back at Daphne but she was watching the card, so Harry turned back to his study of the ceiling. Daphne looked at Harry. He could see her in his peripheral vision but delayed looking back at her because he'd already tried and she wanted to continue looking at his business card twirling around. She kept her eyes on him, though, and Harry had to give in.

"Fine," he said. "It sounds like the resolution of our impasse is for me to table an open proposal of marriage which you can accept at such time as you get your professional and personal calendars clear."

Harry got out of his chair and knelt on the floor of his office before Daphne, who started to laugh.

"Oh, Harry Potter. Aren't we a pair?" she said, sliding out of her own chair and kneeling. Daphne took Harry's hands in hers.

"Will you?" he asked.

"I will," she said. "Will you?"

"Absolutely, yes" said Harry. "What do we do now?"

"We keep doing what we've been doing," laughed Daphne. "I have a sister to marry off. You have business interests, and so do I. If you're at loose ends you can work on your manor. Get it into a proper state to house its new mistress. And right now I'd like you to kiss me."


	31. Chapter 31

Merit & Inheritance

Chapter Thirty-one

Words Exchanged in Confidence

Harry did exactly what Daphne advised that he do. His business interests occupied a good part of his time. To keep things going, Harry began each day with the elves at Potter Manor, working through his list. At what became known as The Morning Meeting, Harry reviewed his to-do list with Kreacher, Mort and Daisy, and the gardening elves, generally in the breakfast room. Once all had their tasks for the day, Harry would return to his office in the mews and look at paper, study invoices, confirm receipts and deal with any incoming correspondence. His organization was small enough and worked smoothly enough that there were very few crises that couldn't be resolved with a short meeting or a note on parchment.

Three weeks after their mutual quasi-proposal at the offices of Harry Potter and Associates, Harry and Daphne held a small dinner for some longtime friends at Potter Manor. There were two very different phenomena to recognize. One was the installation of the portrait of Walburga, Sirius and Regulus Black in the dining room. The second was the engagement of Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy.

Walburga beamed down from her perch when Harry stood and recognized her and her lads. He spoke briefly of Walburga's place in contemporary magical history, graciously glossing over her allegiance to the Dark Magic/pureblood mania that nearly got Harry killed. He noted the number of families that had Black blood in their veins, including his own and that of one of the night's guests of honor, Draco Malfoy. Finishing up, Harry welcomed Walburga, Sirius and Regulus to Potter Manor, ending with a toast and three cheers for each of the Blacks.

"Well, I don't know how I'll follow that," said Daphne. "I'll just have to do my best."

She had a few words for Draco, mainly noting their time in Slytherin House at Hogwarts, but she devoted most of her toast to Astoria. Daphne's younger sister was the light of her life, she said. She could not remember a time when Astoria hadn't been right alongside, observing, assessing, and, yes, judging. Her comments had been early warnings that saved Daphne untold trials and tribulations. She credited Astoria for giving her the idea of becoming a healer. Astoria's encouragement had meant so much, Daphne said, before she had to take a little break and regain her composure.

"And so, Draco and Astoria, we wish you nothing but happiness as you start your adventure together," Daphne said. She'd wanted to go on, but she knew her emotions were about to win the battle with her self-discipline.

Walburga continued looking satisfied from the end of Daphne's toast through the dessert course. Kreacher was needed to serve coffee and tea in the salon so Fluff came over from Greengrass Manor for clearing the dining table and washing up. Daphne stayed behind with Fluff for a few minutes, watching and answering questions.

"You were brilliant, Daphne," said Walburga, out of the blue.

"Oh! Madam Walburga, I'd forgotten you are here with us," gasped Daphne. "Thank-you! That means a lot to me, that a witch with your experience would say that. I know I have a lot to learn."

"Oh, from what I saw tonight, I'd say you're there," countered Walburga. "There weren't very many witches who would have outshone you in my day, and I'd venture there are even fewer today. Are you going to tell me about that sapphire you've added to your right hand?"

"I can see it is going to be fun working together," laughed Daphne. "The sapphire was added by Harry, one night in the second drawing room at #12 Grimmauld Place. It belonged to Iolanthe Peverell, who married Hardwin Potter and together begat the line of wizards that led to Harry. Harry knew what he was doing, inviting you to Potter Manor."

"I want to agree, but it wouldn't do for me to start laying it on for him so soon," said Walburga. "We can keep it just between ourselves, being witches and all. See what you can learn about that ring, dear, I know it will be worth your time. Now, Potter has guests in the salon. Young Fluff there has everything in hand, it appears, so off with your noble and gracious self and I'll just nap until you need me again."

"Madam," Daphne said, nodding.

Astoria and Draco's dinner was the beginning of a partnership that Daphne and Walburga would cultivate with care, over many years. Walburga had gone to her grave skeptical that anyone with the surname Potter could become a wizard worthy of her notice. She wouldn't be making any dramatic adjustments. She was dead and not particularly flexible. Daphne knew, though, that she met Walburga's requirements much more closely than Harry did—witch, Slytherin, pureblood, manor-raised. With Walburga as her valued counselor they would collaborate to advance their lord's interests, which were ultimately the interests of the Potter, Black, Greengrass, Peverell, Slytherin and associated clans' interests manifested in the person and career of Harry James Potter, OM. Most of it they kept just between themselves, being witches and all.

Daphne didn't work on the tea shop project but she stayed current and contributed several suggestions. Pansy found no evidence showing London hosted a single magical tea shop. Some of the magical coffee shops offered tea, but those did not have the look, feel and ambiance Pansy had in mind. She went looking in Muggle London and discovered several dedicated shops with the atmosphere she'd been seeking.

"This is it," Pansy said.

She had dragooned Harry into a little exploratory expedition. The interior of the shop was small for a commercial space, not more than twenty feet by thirty, possibly less. There was a counter with three stools plus low tables before an L-shaped bench that ran around two sides of the room. A selection of teas were on shelves behind the counter. One wall had a painting, black ink on rice paper. Another held a framed print of a mountain with a quiet stream in the foreground.

"Japanese?" asked Harry as they sat down to await their tea.

"Excellent, Harry," said Pansy. "Have you been to Japan?"

"No, why?"

"Well, you recognized it as Japanese right away," said Pansy. "I thought you'd maybe gone, on your travels."

Harry just looked at her, at a loss for words. He was still pondering when a youngish man wearing jeans and a white shirt arrived with two pots of tea and two squat, round cups.

"Green," he said as he put the first pot down. He pointed at the second: "Green with the toasted brown rice."

"I see," said Harry. He didn't mean the tea, but the blond wooden knob that showed at the man's cuff. The server saw what Harry was looking at.

"Oh," he said. "It's therapeutic. Kind of a charm, from Mum's country."

Harry and Pansy, who had by this time also noticed the knob, looked back and forth.

"I've seen a few of those around London," Harry said. "Have you noticed? They must work."

"Have you tried one?" asked the young man. "My name is Julius, by the way."

"Harry, and this is Pansy," Harry said. "I have had occasion to use one."

Harry looked up as the street door opened.

"You have a customer, but we really should talk," said Harry. "We're not in a hurry, perhaps we'll be here when you're finished."

Julius left to take his customer's order. He puttered around behind the counter while the newcomer sat with his tea and read a book, returning to Harry and Pansy's table when it was again just the three of them.

"We're working on a project," Harry said. "We wanted to visit a proper tea shop because part of the idea incorporates a tea shop. There aren't any in our part of London."

He meant the magical part. Julius nodded.

The conversation went on, with breaks for Julius to get up and wait on customers. Julius told them how he had traveled to Japan, mainly for sightseeing and immersion in the Japanese language, and ended up working in a tea shop for several weeks. He had enjoyed it so much he returned to London and found a job doing the same. Julius had then worked in several jobs related to tea while saving up enough to start his own little tea room. By the time they had finished, Harry had given Julius a business card and invited him to come by the office. That chat ended with Julius signing on as a consultant with a contract to advise on the setting up and opening of Magical London's first magical tea emporium.

Pansy got the tea shop project underway then threw herself into organizing an auxiliary business to occupy the rest of the ground floor space in the new building. She had studied the neighboring coffee and book shops so she kept those inventories out of her thinking.

"I think the retail tea should stay in the tea room," she told Harry. "They kind of belong together."

"That works," said Harry. "Or so it seems to me."

"That leaves our other ideas," Pansy went on. "Unusual books and publications, small editions, travel, and some of the magazines that aren't on the mass market racks."

Harry pondered the meaning of 'mass market' as applied to witches and wizards, but didn't comment.

"There are also your 'Young Wizard's First Alchemy Set' and the children's books ideas," said Pansy.

"I like books," Harry said. He didn't tell Pansy, but he had not had a single book of his own until he went to Hogwarts. Despite his own remedial efforts, Harry knew he missed cultural references all the time due to not hearing the usual magical childhood stories as a youngster. Perhaps because of what he thought of as his deficient knowledge of the standard children's magical curriculum, Harry felt the magical legends, fables and fairy tales were crucial to the magical child's development.

"If we got the parents coming for tea, we could have a regular story time right there in the shop next door."

"That's a great idea," said Pansy. "We need to think about that some more."

Julius had his own affairs to manage. He got the tea shop organized and worked with the new employees for two days. The help was invaluable and the shop was a success from its opening. Harry took a lesson from his experience with Daphne and Cyrus and put carefully-crafted management controls in place. Harry didn't mind if the shop lost a little money, he just wanted to know how much. The important thing was they had an occupant in the space.

Pansy continued to work on the ideas for the remainder of the ground floor. Harry and Pansy decided together that they would operate the two parts as a single business. They organized the accounting to differentiate between tea and books. The tearoom side made a little money from its second month. Readers liked it for the quiet atmosphere. Serious students came in during school breaks, bringing textbooks, parchment and study partners. Older witches dominated in the late afternoon, their shopping done, stopping with friends for tea and conversation before heading home.

Pansy studied the sales figures for the retail side, teasing out the formula. Books and other publications for magical children predominated, while one-third of the gross was from the miscellany such as the magical travel magazines and gift items.

"You've done it," said Daphne.

Pansy looked across the table. A pot of green tea sat steeping between them.

"Oh, I don't know," Pansy replied. "I liked being in the office. Harry thinks he's launching me in some kind of magical business career. I get it. Don't get me wrong—I'm grateful he's taking an interest. It was just fun being down at Potter and Associate in the lane, there. Neville or Hannah might show up at any time, or some of the others."

"How do you like having your own location to manage?" asked Daphne

"I like it," said Pansy. "Everyone worked really hard getting it organized. We broke even the first week if you back out the initial investment. We met Julius. Everyone is very happy with the results."

"Morag?" asked Daphne.

"Claims it's her favorite place," Pansy answered. "Tea has become necessary to her relaxation after an arduous day of healing."

"Well, there are definitely a large variety of less-constructive methods one could use," said Daphne. "Just to make an observation."

The two looked at one another. Pansy had confided in Daphne about her own brush with substance abuse. Daphne knew Pansy was aware of Cordelia's problems.

"Uh-huh," Pansy said. "How is everyone at Greengrass Manor?"

Daphne shrugged.

"I'm still watching," she said.

Pansy moved opening and closing times up and back and finally settled on a ten to seven work day. By the end of the second week of the tea shop's existence, Morag was arranging to come by and collect Pansy at closing time, after which they would go out for dinner. They went to one of three places—Al-Andalus, the Dragon or the Leaky Cauldron.

Slowly, the two settled into a routine. They would get together for a meal, then, depending on the time, they might stretch the evening out a bit with a stop for coffee. Neither thought they were dating, each was simply the other's idea of agreeable company.

"That Romilda," said Morag one evening. She was holding her plate for Pansy, who was spooning couscous for both of them.

"What made you think of her?" Pansy asked.

"She came to the clinic," Morag responded. "She asked if I'd be interested in renting out Mother's place. Nothing wrong with the place she ended up, the village, she's just tired of looking at people. Looking for threats. She thinks she would be happier at Mother's."

Pansy finished with the couscous and held her own plate while Morag gave her some of the tajine.

"I could see that," Pansy said. "Although the paranoia would just increase for me, being there at Livia's. I'd think everyone I saw was a threat to me, because why would anyone have a reason to come all that way if they weren't?"

Morag looked across at Pansy.

"You're psychic. I asked that very thing," she said. "Romilda considered it for a minute then said she'd go away and think about it. I suppose I'll go along with her, if she comes back and says she's decided. My only concern would be the isolation. Where does she go if she has a medical emergency? I doubt she can send a patronus for help."

"That's a sad story," said Pansy. "No formal education after fifth year, yanked out of her social sphere and sent off to be the outsider in that strange family. You've studied a lot more psychology than me but it's not hard to see she's got some big gaps. Upstairs, I mean."

"And a baby on the way," said Morag. Both of them sat quietly, thinking over Romilda's situation.

"She'll need to find work, of some kind," Pansy noted.

"Sounds like it," Morag said. "Even if they'd take her I doubt she'd want anything to do with her parents."

"I don't know whether to laugh or scream," said Pansy. "How's she doing? Within your professional limitations, of course."

"Fine," said Morag, "I can say that much."

Pansy moved some couscous around on her plate.

"Hmm?" said Morag. "Something?"

"No, sorry to say," answered Pansy. "Putting myself in her place. I'm just drawing a complete blank for a way out for her."

"Uh-huh," Morag agreed. "Maybe you shouldn't try to worry every problem to death before it's too early to make a decision. In any case, Romilda is fine for now. I didn't pry into her personal circumstances, but I did listen carefully."

Pansy knew Morag meant she listened for what Romilda didn't say as well as what she did. Patients often had a hard time telling healers everything that was bothering them. Good healers became practiced at looking closely, listening carefully and using all their senses.

"For now," repeated Pansy. "But the situation bears watching."

"I think I can say that, within the bounds of propriety," said Morag.

Finished with dinner, they walked to their usual apparation point.

"Coffee? Decaf?" asked Morag, their shorthand for 'Want to stay up a little later?'

"Not tonight, love, I'm opening tomorrow," said Pansy.

The two hugged. Morag wanted a little longer hug, it seemed. Pansy didn't mind. She liked human contact.

"Night," said Morag when they did pull apart.

"Night."


	32. Chapter 32

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Thirty-two

Duties of Lady Black

Once given a few tips by Harry and Neville, Daphne began turning the Greengrass holdings into a viable, profit-making business. The identification of the under-performing asset, the securing of a professional appraisal, and negotiations leading to successful sale, topped off by applying the equity from the building to Cyrus' outstanding debts, all combined to give Daphne a taste for more of the same. She developed a good mental map of the family's physical assets and was soon mixing and matching income streams, which were numerous, to get to an aggressive position vis-à-vis debt retirement.

Daphne scheduled monthly family progress meetings to keep Cyrus and Cordelia current. Cyrus found he had a conflict and missed the first, then became ill and took to bed for the second. Cordelia and Astoria sat down with Daphne and turned the briefing into a tea party for the Greengrass witches. The business was pretty simple, in Harry's term 'addition and subtraction,' so even a detailed, systematic review did not require a lot of time. That left the rest of the meeting for discussions of pre-wedding events, Astoria's actual wedding, and honeymoon plans.

Daphne noticed Cordelia was keeping a small glass of something close at hand, even as she enjoyed her tea. Cordelia noticed Daphne noticing.

"Cognac, dear, would you like a little?" Cordelia asked with a smile.

Perhaps Daphne frowned a bit or took longer to answer than Cordelia could accept.

"Cognac," Cordelia repeated. "It doesn't count, Daphne, there is barely enough alcohol to mention. If I'm going to be under inspection whenever you come to visit…"

"Mum," muttered Astoria, reaching out and covering Cordelia's hand.

Cordelia sighed.

"You're right, dear," she said. "I apologize for snapping, Daphne, we're taking up your personal time with this and I shouldn't act this way."

"I'm not interfering, Mother," Daphne said. "Help is available, if you want it."

Cordelia stared straight ahead. Daphne had been a healer long enough to read Cordelia. She knew her mother was struggling with her own program to control her intake. Daphne also knew forcing Cordelia into treatment while she continued to resist acknowledging her problem would not work.

Cordelia looked into Daphne's eyes and Daphne looked back.

"I'll let you know," she said.

"Fine," Daphne agreed.

Harry had tabled an offer to Narcissa to host some event for Draco and Astoria during their engagement. Little communications went back and forth, usually via Daphne and Astoria, as the principals considered a range of suitable activities and venues. These included a lawn party at Potter Manor, the same at Greengrass Manor, a dinner and a champagne brunch. Harry and Daphne reached an agreement between themselves for a lawn party at Potter Manor. This led to an invitation to Narcissa Malfoy, and Lucius as well, if he was interested, to tea.

Narcissa came with Draco, the two of them apparating to the front lawn.

"You picked a nice spot," Harry called from the front steps. "You'll get the full effect from there."

"This is quite the…" Draco began as he walked his mother to the house, getting just that far before discovering he had not given thought to picking a complimentary close.

"Pile," Harry finished. "From another era is one way to put it."

Draco looked befuddled but Narcissa caught Harry's meaning.

"Tastes change," she said as she presented her cheek for a kiss, then turned her head in expectation of another. Harry obliged.

"They do," Harry said as he shook Draco's hand. "This particular period has completely disappeared. Still, it's too much fun to knock down and rebuild. Come on in."

Harry had asked Kreacher to come along for the meeting with the Malfoys, so he was available to deliver his most gracious deep bow and growl out a welcome. Narcissa and Draco got out of their traveling cloaks and handed them to Kreacher.

"Ever been here, Mrs. Malfoy?" asked Harry.

"Mr. Potter?" said Narcissa.

"Harry, please," Harry said.

"Then it's Narcissa, isn't it? It's only fair," she responded.

"Ever been here, Narcissa?" asked Harry, backing up and trying again.

"When I was a girl, very young, but yes, I do remember this hall, through there was the big salon, the door there is the dining room? Yes, I see your table," said Narcissa.

"Well, why don't we tour and then Kreacher can treat us all to tea or coffee?" said Harry.

A 'pop' sounded out on the green, alerting all three to the arrival of another magical of some sort out front. Three hands automatically prepared to draw wands. Harry stood in front of the great front door as it opened. There was only one person besides Harry for whom the door would open automatically, and that was Daphne. Harry relaxed a little, saw Daphne and loosened his grip.

"I'm late, sorry," said Daphne. She still wore her St. Mungo's uniform top and trousers under her cloak.

"You're just in time, we were barely inside," Harry said.

The front door closed with a long, satisfied sigh, a full stop indicated by the loud click of the bolt as it slammed itself home. Everyone heard the door say to itself, "There," but no one wanted to admit it.

"Narcissa, Draco," said Daphne, rushing her greeting. "Sorry, got held up. I'll just…"

She made some wiggling finger motions toward the stairs and began to climb.

"Might as well wait for her, she won't be a minute," Harry said as he stepped over to the door to the salon. "Well, maybe a minute or two. Kreacher!"

The lamps, candles and sconces lit up when Harry stepped inside. He had advised the fireplace it was resting over the warm months unless he needed it for some special occasion. Harry got his guests seated just as Kreacher appeared.

"Pitcher of ice water and some hot towels for our travelers, please," Harry said. "We'll freshen them up after their journey."

Narcissa smiled her approval while Draco looked around at the portraits looking back at him.

"Know these people?" Harry asked the Malfoys.

"She looks familiar," said Narcissa to Harry before she turned to face Dorea. "You do, Madam."

"Oh, well, Harry, perhaps you should…," said Dorea.

"My great-grandmother, Dorea Black Potter," Harry said, waving toward Dorea's portrait in explanation. "Grandmother Dorea, may I present our cousin, Narcissa Black Malfoy, and her son, Draco Malfoy?"

"Oh…Aunt Dorea…we've never met, I…" stammered an embarrassed Narcissa.

"Yes, it's me," said Dorea. "The exile. Charlus' stolen property, among other things you might have heard."

"Aunt Dorea, Lord Black made a huge mistake, back then," said Narcissa. "I can tell already. It never was completely clear to me, were you formally banished or what? The old witches would just say, 'We don't talk about her,' then they'd shut their mouths."

"I'm not sure that has any relevance at present, Narcissa, since today's Lord Black assures me I am current in my dues and in good standing with him," said Dorea with a smile.

"So you are, Grandmother. Here, I'll take those," Harry said, holding out his hand for the towels. "Kreacher!"

"So, Draco," said Daphne as she came in from the hallway. She walked directly to Draco and traded kisses before stepping over to Narcissa. "Madam Malfoy."

Daphne took Narcissa's offered hand in both of hers, dropping into a deep curtsy and bringing the hand to her lips, holding the awkward position for a beat or two before rising and letting go.

"My dear," said Narcissa, reaching out to bring Daphne's head to herself for kisses, left, right, and left a second time. "Thank-you for receiving us in your home this afternoon."

"Oh, Harry—" was as far as Daphne got in her mild protest.

"Nonsense," said Narcissa. "Protocol be damned."

She kept hold of Daphne's right hand with her left and raised it up so they could all admire Iolanthe's ring.

Daphne blushed.

"Old," said Narcissa, glancing at Harry.

"It is," Harry said. "It is supposed to have belonged to my several times Great-Grandmother Iolanthe Peverell. There was a note with the ring. That is all it said: 'Iolanthe's ring.' It might not be possible to authenticate it. We both checked for anything untoward."

Harry looked at Daphne who started to laugh.

"It's true," she said. "I kind of made him."

"What's funny about that?" asked Draco. "Anything that old could have a ton of nasty stuff on it."

"Voice of experience, Draco?" asked Daphne, her own snark making her laugh once again.

"Well, just saying, can't be too careful, where magic is concerned and all…" Draco managed. Narcissa looked like she was delighted by Daphne's cheek.

"How about that tour, Harry?" asked Narcissa.

Harry led the way out, followed by Draco. Narcissa maneuvered to keep her hold on Daphne's right hand as they walked, her eyes on the sapphire ring, studying it, touching it with the tip of her thumb.

"You and Harry," muttered Narcissa. "You are very close, aren't you?"

"The dining room," Harry was saying. He stopped talking to let Narcissa discover the portrait of Walburga and her lads that overlooked the table.

"Oh, Merlin, is that enchanted?" Narcissa asked.

"Yep," said Sirius.

"You bet!" added Regulus.

"Is that Narcissa? And Draco? Oh, isn't that something? What are you doing here?" asked Walburga.

"Scouting locations for a little event we'd like to do for Draco and his fiancée," said Narcissa. "What are you all doing here?"

"We live here!" Regulus explained, nearly shouting. "How cool is that?"

"Very cool," said Draco.

The tour of the public spaces and the lawn and gardens evolved to become a tour of the entirety of Potter Manor. Harry skipped only the dungeons and the portraits of James and Lily in the breakfast room. Those were no one's business but the Potters, in Harry's view.

When things were winding down, coffee and tea finished and just before the Malfoys took their leave, Narcissa leaned toward Daphne.

"Can you show me to the powder room?" she asked and was taken in hand by Daphne.

When they'd gotten there and were free of the wizards Narcissa paused, holding the door handle.

"I need to visit this tea room everyone is talking about," said Narcissa, keeping her voice down. "When would be a good time for you?"

Several possibilities were available and a date and time were fixed.

When they met at the tea room later that week it seemed to Daphne as if Narcissa just wanted to visit the latest phenomenon in the Magical British array of interesting things to do. Her conversational leads stuck to ordinary current events among the magical population or plans for the lawn party Harry and Daphne were going to put on for Draco and Astoria. The other customers went out by ones and twos and the noble witches found themselves alone at one of the low tables.

Narcissa took her time studying the traditional furnishings, rice paper paintings, the Hokusai prints and flower arrangements. She seemed to approve, lingering over each bit of décor before nodding and moving on to the next. Daphne was pouring their final cups of tea when Narcissa suddenly circled back to her call at Potter Manor.

"How did Harry come across the sapphire?" asked Narcissa. "It really likes you. There was no holding it in there in your salon."

"Well, it is still Harry's salon, until we tie the knot," Daphne began. "When we agreed we were the other's intended, though still not formally engaged, Harry gave it to me. He had found it in the vault at Gringotts, he liked it and wanted to see it worn and said he had been looking for the right occasion."

Narcissa and Daphne exchanged smiles. Narcissa stretched her arm across the table, again covering Daphne's right hand. Daphne felt fingertips stroke her little finger. It should have been disconcerting but somehow wasn't.

"Do you want to know what I think?" Narcissa asked. "I think this ring reached out to you. The deeper meanings of these things are not always clear to us mortals. The Old Ones sometimes choose to be opaque, maybe a little, maybe a lot. Iolanthe must have been a very knowledgeable witch. Powerful. If I'm right, she knew a Potter was going to need a witch like you someday."

"Narcissa, that's very nice," said Daphne. "Also a little speculative, it seems to me."

Narcissa stared into Daphne's eyes.

"You'll be Lady Black, someday soon, Daphne," she said. "I'm married, my surname is Malfoy now, but the Blacks are my birth family, my heritage. Blacks never really leave the Blacks behind. Did you know that? Dorea's portrait proclaimed herself in good standing with the current Lord Black. Such loyalty, and from a banished soul! None but the strongest family can hold us like that. It was a surprise to Lucius, I can tell you, but he found out when it was too late to do anything about it. If you and Potter complete the journey you're on, and it appears all that's left are the formalities and signing the registry, then you will become my chief, as a Black. Even if I must cleave to my husband, as I vowed to do. Do you understand?"

"What?" asked Daphne. "Narcissa, what do you want to do? Or, maybe the question is what do you want me to do? I know you are fond of Harry, anyone could see it. In fact, I kind of hoped you wanted to meet for tea someplace quiet and neutral to put my lingering questions to rest. Which I'm explicitly inviting you to do, right now, in case that isn't clear enough."

"Oh, you are a witch, Daphne Greengrass," said Narcissa. "We have been so in need of a witch like you. We haven't had a Lady Black encumbering the office since Walburga died. Tragic. Such a leadership vacuum. Do I find Potter attractive? Am I fond of him, as you say? Merlin, yes. I owe him my life, not to mention Lucius' and Draco's. He hasn't grown into his power yet, nor his potency, unless I've become incapable of assessing those things. Yes, remember him in the Great Hall? I know that you do, it shows on your face. He'd barely begun to shave yet he prowled through that hall like a natural warlord, the physical and magical in perfect balance, just what we witches want fathering our children. We can't help it. Remember that, I won't be the only one. However, smart witches must be disciplined about such things. Our lives and futures, yours and mine, are already intertwined and will be much better served by me being honest with you about everything, including my fascination with your husband. I promise, I vow to respect any boundaries you set. My job is to be faithful and loyal to you, your trusted servant."

It was Daphne's turn to stare. She didn't know exactly what Narcissa was getting at but it sounded like the senior witch was confessing a sin, begging for absolution and pledging fealty all in one convenient package. Daphne considered her companion for what felt like a long time before deciding to find out if she was reading Narcissa accurately. She extended her right arm across the table, her hand inches from Narcissa.

"It will be my pleasure to accept your offer, Narcissa Black," said Daphne, holding Narcissa's eyes as she spoke. "This conversation stays between us, unless I learn you have breached confidentiality. You will help me as we set about restoring our noble family. For my part I vow that when you have battles to fight you will never again have to fight them alone."

Narcissa let out a long breath as she reached for Daphne's hand. Daphne watched Narcissa's tears welling up and overflowing her lower lids to slide down across her exquisite, chiseled cheekbones. Narcissa was shuddering as she took Daphne's hand in both of hers, kissing first the back, then Iolanthe's ring, then the back a second time before leaning forward and down to press Daphne's tear-washed hand to her forehead.

"Thank-you, Lady Daphne," she whispered. "Thank-you. You have made me feel whole. It has been so long. I had given up hoping I could ever hold my head up again, I swear before Morgana."

Daphne thought the second round of hand-kissing that followed might be overdoing just a bit, although Narcissa obviously craved the catharsis. Daphne put herself into a role she didn't know anything about, but she was representing her future husband so she resolved to don a mental cloak of office and act the part.

"Please do so," she said, trying for an imperious touch. "Pull yourself together and I'll take you outside for a walk. You can use some fresh air, it appears."

Daphne did exactly that, walking Narcissa the full length of Diagon Alley, their arms linked and hoods thrown back. The point was to present Narcissa to their little society as a Companion of Lady Black. They took their time before several shop windows, admiring the wares, silver, china and kitchen, that would likely be showing up soon as wedding gifts for Draco and Astoria. Daphne thought about Walburga and how even her portraits projected an assumption of authority. She hoped, as she held onto the mental image, that she looked at minimum like a Lady Black in training.

While they walked, Daphne kept up a subtle surveillance of her new retainer. Narcissa had always seemed to Daphne to have an abundance of natural beauty, exquisite manners and a brittleness that communicated self-doubt. Narcissa, a noble and tragic witch whose handsome and talented husband possessed an unerring instinct for picking the second-place horse to win, over and over, was bound to develop doubts. Anyone would. Daphne was pleased to observe Narcissa was walking with her head held up.

"What is wrong with me?" Narcissa had been asking herself.

"Nothing wrong with you, dear," said Daphne's actions, "You've just been letting the other one confuse galleons with manhood. What better place than Diagon Alley to begin fixing you?"

The street—shoppers, goblins, people on business and the ambient magic—recognized the two noble and handsome witches, of course. The nuance was startlingly clear for all of those present who were sensitive enough to read the magical language inherent in the witches' stroll.

Daphne Greengrass, the intended of Lord Harry Potter Black, was allying with Narcissa Malfoy. The news bit was recorded and the reassessments began. What would it all mean for Magical Britain?


	33. Chapter 33

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Thirty-three

Cordelia's Episode

The Potter Manor garden party for Astoria and Draco went well, or very well, depending on one's point of view. There was one little incident of note that mainly concerned Harry, Daphne, Astoria and Cyrus, when Cordelia exceeded her limitations and began to lobby Harry to declare the pool open for skinny-dipping. When she did not get a positive response, she tried casting a bigger net and began asking loudly that her immediate neighbors join her cause.

Daphne and Cyrus combined to get Cordelia inside and upstairs for a little lie-down and a cold compress for her forehead. Cyrus went back to the gardens while Daphne stayed behind to watch over Cordelia.

"Where am I? What room is this?" Cordelia asked from beneath the cold hand towel.

"It's my room," said Daphne, not really thinking about it.

"Your room? Your room, Daphne Greengrass? Why do you have a room at Potter's?" demanded Cordelia, getting her elbow beneath her and trying to raise up. She'd had more than she thought, though, and flopped back down.

"Yes, Mother, my room," said Daphne. "It's a manor, there are lots more rooms than Harry can use, so he let me take my pick. When I work all night I'll come out here to sleep. This is a lot quieter than my flat."

"I see," said Cordelia. She readjusted her towel, just covering her eyes and appeared to drift off.

"You can sleep in your room at home, if you need it quiet," she revived just enough to say.

Cordelia fell asleep.

"I know, Mum," said Daphne as she leaned over and kissed Cordelia's damp forehead.

Daphne stayed around a few minutes more, just to make sure Cordelia was sound asleep, then went downstairs and rejoined the party. Guests were beginning to take their leave. Harry stood with Draco and Astoria, before a bank of five spectacular gardenias, shaking hands and thanking people for coming. Some of the older guests had known James and Lily. More than one of the older witches teared up when they told Harry how good it felt to be a guest at Potter Manor again.

Daphne arrived and took her place beside Harry. The four became a reverse receiving line. Astoria was told she was going to be such a beautiful bride, Draco got countless congratulations and best wishes, Harry was commended for taking care of his historic property and Daphne was blessed, complimented on her beauty, thanked for the invitation and given a multitude of conversational openings to confide hers and Harry's relationship status, all of which she graciously deflected.

"Merlin, who invited him?" Daphne asked, spotting Laurent Selwyn heading their way.

"No one," said Draco. "He is a plus-one. Who's that witch, Astoria?"

"Meritous Pennyfarthing," said Astoria. "Goes by Meri."

Meritous Pennyfarthing was a witch from Astoria's year whose only distinguishing characteristic at Hogwarts had been her acknowledged status as a charms prodigy. Astoria had gotten to know her because Astoria had an affinity for charms as well, although she wasn't the prize-winner Meri was.

"I can see we're going to have to discuss this further," Daphne muttered to Astoria.

"Meri!" said Astoria. "And Laurent."

"Oh, Astoria, what a happy occasion!" said Ms. Pennyfarthing. "Everyone has been so nice, even when we didn't know each other. Draco, good afternoon, congratulations on your engagement. I've been anticipating today since the invitation arrived and I know so many other witches and wizards have been, too."

Meri continued on to Harry and Daphne, handing out gracious social niceties as if she had an endless supply and could, if pressed, keep it up until time for Evensong. Laurent Selwyn appeared to have gotten over his disappointment with his family's failed negotiations with Cyrus Greengrass. He followed in Meri's wake, nodding and giving each hand offered one perfunctory shake.

"Best," Laurent said, nodding to Astoria.

Draco received the corollary: "Congratulations."

Laurent loosened up enough to tell Harry, "Thank-you for including me."

"Daphne," he said, finally, taking her hand. While his date waited patiently Laurent took his time looking into Daphne's eyes before giving her face and hair a more general inspection. He had the self-discipline not to keep going and assess her torso, to Daphne's complete surprise.

Laurent's middle finger curled around and lay across Daphne's little finger and Iolanthe's ring. Daphne felt it move across the sapphire, once, twice, stroking. It couldn't have been unintentional.

"_Now that is going too far_," Daphne thought, immediately noticing Selwyn's face change from party-guest-civil to one of shock mixed with surprise. He jerked his hand away and turned to Meri.

"I suppose," he began, not waiting for Meri's response but turning immediately for the front of the house and its convenient apparition point. Daphne thought he seemed to be hurrying away, even from Meri. He raised his right hand, looked it over and worked the fingers more than once before they rounded the corner out of sight.

Daphne remembered Narcissa's thoughts as she stroked Iolanthe's ring with her left hand and waited for Hannah and Neville to work the line.

"_Thank-you_," she thought. "_I wonder what else can you do_?"

Narcissa waited until only a few guests were left, chatting as they walked toward their hosts. She walked up and stood next to Daphne's shoulder, away from the rest of the principals.

"What can I do?" Narcissa asked as she leaned close, speaking just for her prospective chieftain.

A number of tasks occurred to Daphne, some self-canceling, others more practical.

"Give us just a moment with these people and then come with me," she muttered.

When she was free Daphne caught Narcissa's eye and tilted her head toward the house.

"Mother might benefit from a chat with a peer, someone with a little longer perspective," said Daphne

"Someone, old, like me," said Narcissa, the glee in her self-assessment coming through.

"Someone with her kind of life experience," said Daphne. "I'll always be her daughter. That may be getting in the way of her search for clarification."

Together they climbed the stairs to the second floor, and Daphne's Potter Manor bedroom.

"Mum?" Daphne called softly, into the darkness through the half-opened door. Muffled sounds came back, barely audible. To Narcissa and Daphne they sounded like noise and not words, so nothing was lost.

"Mum?" Daphne called again. The room's enchantments recognized their mistress and lit the sconces.

Daphne sat on the edge of her bed. Cordelia had pulled the pillow over her face and was intent on keeping her weeping private. She pushed Daphne's hand away from the pillow, once, twice, before Daphne succeeded in getting the pillow from Cordelia's red and puffy face.

"What do you think, Mum?" Daphne asked. "Time for a little coffee? Tea? Do you feel up to it?"

"I can't go down there again," moaned Cordelia. "Did I ruin Astoria's party? I did, I ruined Astoria's engagement party. Harry won't ever invite me back, will he?"

Daphne looked at Narcissa, motioning with her eyes toward a chair that sat by the bedside table. Daphne cast a silent _accio!_ The chair slid across the carpet to a spot convenient to Cordelia. Narcissa sat down and took Cordelia's hand.

"Narcissa? What are you doing here?" asked Cordelia, clearly startled by the appearance of someone outside her immediate family.

"Chatting up my soon-to-be in-law, Cordelia," said Narcissa. "Having a tough day? I've had some. Daphne thought we might resonate a little. If you'd like that."

Cordelia was silent, with nothing moving but the hand that gripped Narcissa's and the tears running from her eyes. From time to time Daphne dabbed her mother's cheeks with a tissue. Daphne let things go on as long as they seemed, in her healer's judgment, to serve a therapeutic purpose. She noticed Cordelia's wand was lying on the bed next to her left hand, so she picked it up and crossed to a vanity table, quietly opening and closing a drawer.

"Just for safety's sake," Daphne said to herself, although she didn't care one way or the other if Cordelia and Narcissa heard.

"How about that coffee, Mum?" Daphne asked.

"Did I ruin everything?" Cordelia moaned, looking at Narcissa.

"Oh, dear, no," answered Narcissa. "You humanized a rather stilted and tradition-encrusted magical social ritual. Gave something flat just a bit of effervescence. Of course, one of those per lifetime, at these sorts of things, might be just right. Wouldn't want a repeat."

"I won't, I won't, I swear," insisted Cordelia. She was making her case to Narcissa, but Narcissa thought Daphne would be a better arbiter.

"Cordelia, you might want to speak to Daphne about that," said Narcissa. "She has much more knowledge on these matters than either you or me."

Cordelia was startled enough to give a single, visible shudder.

"Daphne?"

"Mum?"

"Maybe I should have that coffee. Can you summon an elf?"

"Oh, why don't we get you up, Mum?" asked Daphne. "You'll feel better. Need a little comfort stop? The loo's just there."

Daphne and Narcissa got Cordelia's feet and legs reoriented before sliding their arms under her back and lifting. Cordelia wobbled back and forth a couple of times. Narcissa and Daphne flanked Cordelia until they got to the door to the bathroom.

"She has to get out of here," Daphne said after stepping away from the door. "We need to talk, witch to witch to witch, while she faces up to what she's done. That business outside fits into a mosaic that comes straight from her alcohol dependency. Now is the time to help her see that. No judgment."

"Where?" asked Narcissa.

"Dining room, sitting up, hard-backed chairs. You'll stay with us," Daphne said, finishing up.

When they had Cordelia downstairs and inside the dining room Daphne let Narcissa get her mother seated while she stepped out into the hall and ordered coffee and cups for everyone. Coming back inside, Daphne closed the double doors and wanded the lock. Narcissa caught the nuance. She glanced at Walburga before nodding at Daphne.

"Lady Daphne," she said, affirming her approval.

"Thank-you, Kreacher, just leave everything right there," said Daphne when Harry's elf arrived. "I'll be serving our guests."

Kreacher, as a house elf, didn't bother with locked doors when following his mistress' orders, and promptly vanished with a distinct 'pop.'

"How about black, Mother?" said Daphne. "You might not tolerate the milk and sugar right now."

"What are you going to do, Daphne? Lock me away?" Cordelia's tone was plaintive and accepting, all at once.

It would have broken hearts had both of her companions not passed through worse.

"No, Mother, you're a long way from needing to be locked away," said Daphne as she put two black coffees in front of Narcissa and Cordelia. "We're going to have a talk. There are some things we can't put off discussing any longer. We're all just witches in here, helping one another on life's journey."

Daphne didn't start throwing facts at Cordelia right away. She just sat close by, letting Narcissa smile and take Cordelia's hand now and then, letting Cordelia talk about whatever was on Cordelia's mind.

"I guess it wasn't funny, in that context," said Cordelia, more or less spontaneously. She looked out the dining room window at the grounds. "Such a lovely estate."

"Cyrus can lock it all up. He can keep the key," said Cordelia. "I trust we can open a bottle of some cheap Italian red when we have spaghetti?"

"That's not what you need to do, Mother," said Daphne.

"You're talking about going completely dry? I'll cut down! I just need one with spaghetti!"

"Mother, what happened this afternoon?" asked Daphne.

"Right, one, or possibly two too many," Cordelia began. "It was Astoria's lawn party, I wanted to celebrate with her. She's so happy to be marrying Draco, and becoming a Malfoy, too, Narcissa. It isn't about me, I just got a little too celebratory."

"You told us upstairs you couldn't face Astoria again," said Daphne. She let it hang there, something for Cordelia to consider.

"I don't know if I can do what you're asking," said Cordelia. "There is too much on my plate. We're working out of Cyrus' financial mess, he is no help anymore, he just sits there, I have to keep us on budget…"

Narcissa broke her silence.

"Cordelia, you have a strong, strong family. Daphne and Astoria are capable women. If Cyrus won't pitch in, your daughters can take up some of the slack. I will, of course, support them any way I can. Lucius Malfoy is not consuming one hundred percent of my time these days."

Daphne smiled at Narcissa, giving her a little nod of approval and thanks for the reinforcement.

"You need to give up alcohol, Mother," said Daphne. "You've enjoyed yourself for years and years, longer than most people get. Time's up, or we won't have you much longer."

"Daphne, I, since I was barely out of childhood, always had myself under control, never was a sloppy drunk…" stammered Cordelia.

"Oh, I know," said Daphne. "You could hold your liquor, couldn't you? That isn't the determining factor. That doesn't have anything to do with what is happening inside you. We have a program at St. Mungo's. The patient has to check in voluntarily. Two days for evaluation, another twenty-four hours during which you take a potion or two and discuss the results of your examinations with your healer. Witches and wizards are very lucky in that we have potions that begin working quickly to repair old damage. Muggles have a much rockier road ahead of them.

"You do have to stop drinking, though. That's what I meant by your time is up."

"What? What time is up?" demanded Cordelia.

"Your body is showing the signs of long-term abuse of alcohol," said Daphne. "I see a lot of it in my practice. The little red lines on your cheekbones? Those are little ruptured blood vessels. You're a bit distended in the abdomen. That's your liver. Your body is giving out. The good news is you still have time to put it all behind you. If you want to stay here with us a little longer."

Cordelia broke into sobs, buried her face in the crook of her arm, and went incommunicado. Narcissa lay her arm over Cordelia's shoulder and spoke softly in her ear.

"Listen to Lady Daphne, Cordelia, she is our expert. She wants to see you healthy again, so you can attend Astoria's wedding. Daphne's too, of course. I doubt she'll be willing to wait for very long, once Draco and Astoria are launched. Your girls need you here. Your husband does too, doesn't he? Do you want to get better?"

"Yes," sobbed Cordelia.

Daphne had been waiting for that "Yes."

"Can you sit here for a few minutes, Narcissa? I'd prefer if you could keep it to just you two. If the wizards show up, you're authorized to work some wiles, if you can keep it reasonable," said Daphne, on her way out the door.

When she got back from St. Mungo's, Daphne breezed into Potter Manor and went straight to the dining room. She was not pleased to see Cyrus and Astoria flanking Cordelia. Daphne wiggled her eyebrows at Narcissa, who shrugged. "What did you want me to do?" she appeared to ask.

Daphne didn't see any reason to dither so she just plowed ahead.

"Mother, I've just come from St. Mungo's, where I've arranged a bed for you in the unit we discussed. I would like for you to come with me, now. Your condition demands action, on your part," she said.

"Oh, Daphne, you were always our thespian," said Cyrus, almost chortling. "Every family needs one. Let's not make more of this than we need to. If you'll just help me get your mother back to Greengrass Manor, she can get a good, restful night's sleep and we'll all put this in perspective in the morning."

Daphne did her best to completely ignore her father and his irrelevancies. Turning to her mother she asked, "Mother, can I take you to St. Mungo's? It's all arranged. Why don't you come with me?"

"She said she wants to go home, Daphne. It's been a stressful day," Cyrus whined.

"Mother!" said Daphne. "There is no easy way to say this, Mother. Life, or death? You choose."

Walburga Black had been put away for decades and had lost some of the social polish she'd once had. She was becoming agitated, having to watch Cyrus Greengrass fumble about, intervening in matters in which he had no expertise, working at cross purposes to his brilliant healer daughter. Life or death? What's to choose? What was wrong with the blowhard? It wasn't long before Walburga decided she had heard enough.

"Everyone but Daphne can SHUT UP!"

The command rattled the crystals hanging off the chandelier. Everyone turned to look at Walburga and her lads. 

"I beg your pardon?" huffed Cyrus. "Who are you? Daphne, who is this? Do portraits order living humans around in this house?"

"Father…" Daphne began.

"May I?" asked Narcissa. She didn't wait for Daphne's answer but tuned her voice to its most seductive band.

"Cyrus, dear, the lady in the portrait is Walburga Black, our _grand dame of grand dames_. She has more influence from her side of the Veil than most of us have from this side, so I beg your indulgence to gently suggest that you should do as Madam Walburga advises. It's really in your best interest. Now, Cordelia, Daphne thinks it is advisable for you to see her colleague and get evaluated. Lady Daphne is very learned and loves you very much, so she wouldn't steer you wrong, would she? Will you put yourself in her hands?"

Cordelia listened to Narcissa while staring at her face as if mesmerized. Something about the combination of reasonable communication, one on one, and Narcissa's slight smile backed by oceans of charisma worked wonders. What's more, Narcissa anointed her daughter Lady Daphne, a curious styling that implied hidden undercurrents between them. Months and months later, when Cordelia could talk about it all, she said that, in the course of Narcissa's summing-up, she realized Narcissa's was the voice she had been waiting and listening for.

"Of course, Narcissa, how could I not?" asked Cordelia.

She leaned forward, forearms on the dining table, and stood up.

"Let's go," she said. She looked Daphne straight in the eye. "Better hurry or I'll change my mind."

Narcissa and Draco waited with Harry for Daphne's return. Astoria wanted to stay with Draco so Cyrus hung around a little longer before going home alone.

"If she has time, will you ask Daphne to come by?" Cyrus asked Harry.

"Of course, Cyrus," Harry said. He walked Cyrus outside to the apparition point.

"Poor Mum," said Astoria when they had all reconvened in the salon

"Daphne will see she gets the best St. Mungo's can offer," said Narcissa. "She'll have to do a little work on her own. We'll all support her, won't we?"

The young people all concurred. While they waited for Daphne, Harry had Kreacher keep the carafes filled and hot, along with trays of leftovers from the lawn party.

"Miss me?" asked Daphne as she walked in the salon. "Oh, I see the party just moved in here. Where's Father?"

"Went home," said Astoria.

"He'd like a word," Harry added.

Daphne took a deep breath and blew it back out.

"Of course he would," she said.

Daphne spent the next half-hour talking with her sister, and her sister's prospective husband, about Cordelia's admission and her expectations once the evaluation and treatment phase of her recovery effort were past. Daphne sanitized several cases from her own experience, omitting names and anything more identifying than pronouns. The St. Mungo's program had a good record. At the same time, Daphne was honest about how the family had to understand the probability of a relapse or two was much higher than success the first time around.

Daphne went to Greengrass Manor with Draco and Astoria, as soon as Narcissa departed for the Malfoys.' She found Cyrus in his high-backed desk chair, sitting before a window and watching birds gliding through on the way to their roosts.

"Father?" Daphne said as she came in the study.

"Daphne!" said Cyrus. "Watching a few birds."

"I see," said Daphne, nodding at the bird guide and binoculars on the window sill.

"Something to drink?" Cyrus asked.

"I left a cup of tea half-full at Harry's," said Daphne. "What can I do for you this evening?"

"How is she?" Cyrus asked, with no segue. It was obvious to Daphne that it cost her father some pride to acknowledge, by asking, that he had to ask.

"Fine, right now," said Daphne. "The next few days will be really hard for her, although, with the potions they use in the unit the physical effects of withdrawal are well-moderated."

"What happened?" Cyrus asked. "She liked her wine with meals and a nightcap to get to sleep…"

"Don't blame yourself, Father," said Daphne. "We're responsible for our own actions, not the next person's, even if it is a family member. Mother didn't notice she had a problem until recently. She just tippled herself into a spot. Now she has to decide if she wants to move on. There are potions and programs that can help."

Cyrus sat quietly, staring out the window. Daphne pulled a chair around and joined him. Neither had anything to say right away.

"Did I do this? Did I do this to your mother?"

Cyrus' mutter was barely audible.

"No, she liked her wine long before she became involved with you," Father. "I won't breach any confidences but you can be sure the problem is Mother's. Is there anything you want to get off your chest?"

"Ahhh…I knew she was hitting it a little too hard," Cyrus said. "She was always so much fun to be around. It just escaped my notice the fun and a little glass of something or other always went together. She's mortified right now, about her performance at Potter's. Thinks Astoria will always see her the way she was, right there in front of the cream of Magical Britain."

"Father, there is no reason to concern yourself right now," said Daphne. "We all have plenty of work to do. Focus on that and let mother work with her healers for a few days. Besides, as you well know, the cream of Magical Britain harbors a disproportionate share of the total amount of vice on this island."

They chatted a little longer, then Daphne went to find Astoria, who was in the salon with Draco. Neither spoke although they raised their eyebrows together as if they'd been drilling since Daphne had left them. The combined effect was so funny-looking it made Daphne laugh.

"You two…" she tried, getting no further.

"How is she?" asked Astoria.

"Not good," answered Daphne. "We'll see what her exams show. The visible physical symptoms say she has something like twelve to eighteen months left to live at her current consumption level."

Astoria let out a gasp.

"A year? Mum has a year left to live?"

"Astoria, I'm going by the things I can see, not an exam or proper diagnostics," said Daphne. "But yes, the visible damage is consistent with a prognosis of a year to a year and a half. That is if she keeps going at her present pace."

"I never saw Lady Cordelia drunk," said Draco. "What happened?"

"It isn't necessary to get drunk," Daphne said. "Steady dawn-to-dusk drinking, day after day, is all it takes. Alcohol is poison and the effects are cumulative."

"I had no idea," said Astoria. Draco shook his head.

"Nor I," he said.

Draco reached across, took Astoria's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I should be getting home. Are you all settled in?"

"Daphne?" asked Astoria.

"Sure," said Daphne. "We'll manage."


	34. Chapter 34

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Thirty-four

Runic Blessings

The next few weeks were one of THOSE periods. Each day felt like it would never end. When Harry, Daphne and their friends worked their way through the busy patch it seemed, in retrospect, as if it had all flown by.

Daphne and Astoria pitched in, along with Narcissa, to keep planning moving in anticipation of Astoria and Draco's upcoming wedding. Pansy oversaw the tea shop and the companion space. She was still working on finding something for the basement. Harry tried to keep up with his studies in family magic but it wasn't the same without Daphne and Daphne seldom had time to join him.

Morag returned from Scotland and reported that she had rented Livia's cottage to Romilda, who was doing fine and looking forward to the birth of her child. Pansy listened. She wasn't enthusiastic. Pansy could think of all kinds of things that could go wrong for a pregnant witch living alone in a two room cottage on a lane in the middle of nowhere. Harry agreed.

Romilda had the additional issue of what might still be her unresolved relationship with the Bergs. No one had seen any sign of continuing attention from Romilda's in-laws, while the nature of the problem itself prevented confirmation that they were ready to leave her alone. Harry kept his own counsel. He wasn't just worried for Romilda, but Pansy and Morag as well. They had all incurred some exposure to the Bergs.

Cordelia worked hard at her recovery. Somehow the combined counseling from Daphne, Narcissa and Walburga cut away her defenses and she faced up to her problem. She cooperated with the professionals on the specialized unit at St. Mungo's, putting up with the diagnostic procedures and initial workup. She didn't even complain about the more invasive phases of her initial examinations. Cordelia did not like the therapy sessions. The counselors were skilled interviewers but their questions could not be constructed to avoid bringing up painful memories. Some of the most painful memories, properly considered and analyzed, brought forth the most useful lessons. Even so, at the end of her initial week she was ready to come home.

"Mum, you really haven't been here long enough," Daphne argued.

"You know I can't stay, Daphne," Cordelia countered. "We have a date for a wedding. We're in the countdown. Let me go home and get busy. Work is therapy."

Cordelia wasn't a prisoner and St. Mungo's couldn't hold her against her will so she did end up going home. She attended a meeting every evening at seven. Daphne was impressed and told Cordelia so. She also watched for indications Cordelia was slipping back to old habits.

Somehow, it all got done.

The vise loosened, letting Harry and Daphne return to spending an evening or two each week with their family grimoires. Sometimes they read to themselves and sometimes aloud.

One evening Harry stopped reading and passed his volume, a treatise on bonding between partners by a well-known alchemist, over to Daphne with a question: "Know anything about this?"

Daphne read for a bit.

"Never heard of it," she said. "It would explain one or two things."

Harry looked across at Daphne.

"Like?"

"You've surprised me, once or twice, by seeming to know just what I've been thinking I really need done."

Harry rolled that around in his mind.

"Maybe those were just paying attention," Harry said. "Or two people with similarities about what they enjoy."

"You could be right," said Daphne. "Simple compatibility."

"How are you with runes?" Harry asked. He looked into Daphne's eyes. "I could use some calligraphy practice."

"Do tell," said Daphne, adding a little smile.

The alchemist had compiled a short book, little more than one hundred pages, some of which were illustrations, describing what he claimed were actual cases of magical couples who had formed extraordinarily strong bonds. The course required patience. Those who chose to complete it were reported to achieve unusual sensitivity between partners, intuiting thoughts, moods and needs without the bother of putting everything into words. Sticking with the program produced unusual levels of empathy. Individuality remained intact while the pair became more and more sensitive to the other's needs. The little book was filled with cautionary notes.

"Do you think we could?" Harry asked.

Daphne didn't realize it but the fingers of her left hand were stroking Iolanthe's ring on her right.

"Maybe we've already begun," Daphne observed. The tip of Daphne's tongue peeked out and moistened her upper lip, and that was the end of any productive study that evening.

Harry had finished going through the office correspondence one morning when he decided to take the little book on bonding and visit the tea room. Pansy spent part of every day there, generally in the morning, then came back to Potter and Associates after lunch. She had found some young witches, and one young wizard, who were just starting out and hired them to work in the tea room and the little shop next door with the eclectic stock.

"Harry," Pansy said in greeting when Harry walked through the door. "Come for a cup?"

"How about one of the small pots of the green?" Harry asked. "I brought a book."

Harry held up the little volume.

"Of course," said Pansy. "Sit anywhere, we'll be right there."

One of Pansy's proteges brought the tray with the teapot and two cups. Harry must have shown surprise at the second cup.

"Pansy said she'll be along," the young witch muttered in explanation.

Harry let the tea steep and opened his book. The alchemist wrote in a methodical, non-sensationalist style. Harry was something of a sucker for arguments couched in academic terms and found the text to be very persuasive, precisely because it was so dry.

"What are you reading?" Pansy asked. She pulled out the low chair and sat down.

"Something I found that purports to be a study on forming strong bonds in magical couples," said Harry.

"Do you really think that you and my housemate Greengrass need that, Harry Potter?" Pansy came back. "If she wasn't out being a healer all day and night I think you two would be joined at the hip."

"Maybe so," Harry said. "I have to find someone with greater expertise. From what I can see, if a couple worked through these steps the worst that could happen would be to find out it had no basis and they had just wasted a little time. I searched out an alchemist once and wanted to ask him a few questions about something technical that I didn't understand. His attention span was too short, though. All he wanted me to talk about was fighting Voldemort."

Harry kept his voice down out of respect for the other customers, since so many people were still traumatized just by hearing the Dark Lord's name. Something about his dry account of the conversation with the alchemist struck Pansy just right and she let out a whoop of laughter.

"That's what you get!" she said.

"For what?" asked Harry.

"For being Harry Potter," Pansy whispered.

Harry looked around the tea room. Satisfied there were no quills and parchments coming out from under cloaks, because he wasn't in the mood to sign autographs just then, he turned his attention back to Pansy.

"On the other subject, I ran across this and it just looked interesting. Daphne hadn't heard of it before, which kind of surprised me, coming from the healer," Harry said.

"Give it a try," said Pansy. "I didn't see anything in there that looked like it would throw you onto a parallel plane of existence, should it go horribly wrong."

"I suppose you would want a full report, once we are successful?"

"Harry," said Pansy. "Witches do have to share. It's our learning style."

Daphne and Harry kept their calendars close at hand during those weeks. They told themselves, and each other, that they had so much going on they needed to be checking throughout the day. That was true, as far as it went. The real reason though, went unspoken, and that was because they were counting the days to Astoria and Draco's wedding.

They were both happy for Astoria, who was going to get to marry her true love, instead of Laurent Selwyn. Harry was even semi-happy for Draco. He didn't feel a need to convey insincere hopes for a lifetime of happiness. Draco had been quite the source of hurt and discontent, not just for Harry, but for practically everyone Harry knew back at Hogwarts. At the time, Lucius Malfoy seemed to delight in trashing the Weasley family over their lack of wealth. Arthur and Molly managed to live on Arthur's Ministry salary and delighted in their big family. Lucius seemed to Harry to be a fatally flawed personality with money, which attributes he passed on to his only child. Harry's list of priorities didn't include either money or a repellent personality, which would, in turn, guarantee he and Draco would have difficulty communicating.

The real reason Daphne and Harry watched the calendar, though, was because once Astoria was married there would be a clear path to the altar for them. Neither was a slave to protocol but Daphne loved Astoria madly, and would never knowingly do anything to throw shade on her sister. Therefore, Daphne was making a conscious effort to push Astoria forward socially, so that she could occupy her rightful place as the star among stars in the season's social calendar.

Still, there were no restraints on Daphne and Harry's own preparations. They simply felt better letting Astoria and Draco have the spotlight right then. Harry noticed Daphne was spending a lot of time sewing. He tried not to be obvious but he watched as much as he could, trying to figure out what she was working on. After a week or two he could see a long crimson gown taking shape. Daphne got the basic garment tacked together and had Harry stand up and slip it over his head. After a couple of circumnavigations Daphne allowed Harry to take it off and returned to her work. She spent one evening basting a gold band about two inches wide around the edges. Then it appeared she was done with the garment and had turned to embroidery. When she got enough done, Harry could see she was embroidering runes here and there. He resolved to get a good rune text and brush up.

"Pansy!" Harry called, the next time the two were in the office together.

"Harry?" Pansy answered.

"Do you have any good rune books over there?"

"No, I'd recommend Flourish and Blotts," said Pansy. "Runes are mass market, as magical books go, so we leave it to them. Why?"

"I need a simple one, something even I can understand," said Harry. "Do you have any recommendations?"

"My nail polish is still drying, Harry, so I've put off doing actual work for another minute or two. Have you thought of Hermione Granger? Wasn't she the greatest rune-witch of the age, just a short time ago?" asked Pansy.

"Oh, right, that's an excellent idea," Harry said. "Thanks!"

"I betcha she's bored to tears, sitting over there in her office in the Department of Mysteries, waiting for someone to magically appear in her fireplace…"

"Promise me you'll never go looking for a full-time occupation, Pansy, because I won't survive without you."

Harry got up and threw some floo powder into his grate. He let his head bask in the painless flames for a few seconds before he spoke.

"Department of Mysteries, Harry Potter calling for Hermione Granger!"

"Harry!" said a familiar voice. "How can I help you today?"

"I've developed a beginner's interest in runes," Harry said. "That leads to a need for a rune book suitable for a…"

"Beginner," said Hermione, finishing Harry's sentence. "How soon do you need them?"

"Them?" asked Harry.

"Well sure," said Hermione. "They're all a little different, that's the way the field works. All the experts have their preferences, which diverge here and there. When do you want me to deliver them?"

"Oh, that's convenient," Harry said. "Tonight, at Grimmauld Place?"

"Time?" asked Hermione.

"Anytime," Harry answered.

"Done," said Hermione.

"That was easy enough," said Harry. He thought he was talking to himself.

"Her parents might be dentists but Hermione is a witch," Pansy noted from her place on the threshold of Harry's office. "Witches like to do things for people, I suspect it is built-in. She's an expert in the field and flattered by your interest."

"Taking your word for it," Harry assured her.

Hermione took the floo to #12 Grimmauld Place immediately after dinner that evening.

"Where's Daphne?" Hermione asked, looking around the salon.

"Worked all day at the office, now she's at Greengrass Manor, plotting with Cordelia and Astoria, allegedly," said Harry. "Astoria's wedding must be planned, over and over and over."

"Harry, they're having fun," Hermione said. "Every time they run through their plans and adjust some little thing they get the positive feedback all over again. You'll be getting involved in your own planning soon, I think?"

Harry didn't have a response.

"Ahh…" he tried, improvising. "I'm sure Daphne has some ideas."

"Exactly," said Hermione. "That's how it begins—with an idea. Hold on tight, Harry, I'm guessing you're in for a ride."

With that she dispensed a very proper, smackless kiss to Harry's cheek and stepped back into the fireplace, disappearing in the green flames.

Harry didn't have an affinity for runes and he led a very interesting life with no one around to tell him to drop this and go work on that. Therefore he was as surprised as anyone else would have been when he realized he was throwing himself into the study of runes. Harry had taken a similar approach to quidditch and to Defense Against the Dark Arts under Professor Lupin. Other than those two he couldn't think of any other academic fields he had worked at like he worked at runes.

Daphne knew why he was working so hard. She had read the little book about bonding between magical couples. She had also heard by word of mouth of ritual rune-painting. As a healer, Daphne had a more scientific way of thinking than most witches, making her very skeptical. Still, if Harry Potter wanted to take up runes, Daphne thought that was constructive and just fine with her.

Harry and Daphne were just exiting from the period of intense activity when Harry observed that they really should make a joint visit to Gringotts and take a look in the Potter vault.

"What for?" asked Daphne.

"Well, I thought you might like to look for an engagement ring," said Harry. "You could find something suitable in the old jewelry. If you don't then of course I will get you whatever you like."

"Okay, let's coordinate and find a time," said Daphne.

The vault visit took place about two weeks later. It seemed like if Harry was available, Daphne wasn't. Harry was right off of Diagon Alley, and Gringotts, whenever he was at the office, meaning it wasn't really Harry having trouble with a meetup. He began to think Daphne was ambivalent. Harry wasn't one hundred percent accurate nor was he completely wrong.

"It doesn't have to be showy," Daphne said as Harry pressed his hand on the Potters' vault door.

Something must have conveyed in the way he looked at Daphne ane she responded to him as if he'd spoken.

"Healers put their hands on people all day. Pulling a ring off and putting it somewhere would be a waste of time. Also prone to loss. I'd be devastated. You'd never trust me again…" Daphne said.

"Oh, that's not true," said Harry. "Things get lost. That's why there are hoards in the museums. What brought this on?"

"Not sure anything was 'brought on' in your quaint phrase," Daphne flared just a little.

The lighting in the vault had just come up when Harry stopped in front of an inner door. It looked a little like the smallest walk-in bank vault doors from the muggle world. There weren't any dials or other kinds of vault door hardware visible because the locking and unlocking were controlled by the lord's hand.

Harry listened for the clicks and stood back so the door could open. He led Daphne in and they waited for the sconces to flame up and stabilize. The sides of the little room were lined with steel boxes along the lines of muggle safe deposit boxes. The boxes didn't have the look of brushed steel but were black. Again, there were no locking mechanisms visible. The boxes were differentiated from one another by brass Roman numerals keyed to a chart on the back of the entrance door, one of which just said: 'RINGS' and XVII.

Harry laid his hand on number seventeen. As he released the pressure the drawer came open with his hand.

"Iolanthe's ring was in here," he said as he removed two hands-full of velvet-covered boxes.

Daphne touched Iolanthe's ring with the fingertips of her left hand.

"Oh, goody!" she said, "We'll get to see if lightning does strike the same place twice."

Daphne had visibly brightened up at the prospect which conveyed itself to Harry's mood as well.

Harry pulled over a step stool that was kept inside to facilitate climbing to the higher levels of the boxes and laid out his trove on top.

"Maybe it does," he said, opening the first box.

The ring inside was a diamond solitaire, square cut, in a gold ring. Harry thought it was probably valuable because of the size of the diamond but it wasn't distinguished otherwise. He remembered Daphne's observation about healers and putting their hands all over people. There were certainly bits of anatomy that came to mind as bad places for a diamond to get caught in the course of an examination.

"Lovely, but nah…" Daphne said.

Several more, diamonds, sapphires, rubies and one spectacular emerald followed in turn. Harry reached for a black box that was a little larger than the others and opened it.

"Stop," Daphne ordered. "Put it down."

Harry set the box down on the stool. Daphne drew her wand and held it near the two silver rings inside. Harry could see her lips move as she whispered, casting charms on the pair.

"I don't think there is anything harmful on them, but they're full of magic," she murmured. "What do you think?"

Daphne stood still as Harry held his own wand over the rings much the way Daphne had done. Harry noticed she looked just as she had in the salon when they'd brought Walburga to Potter Manor. He theorized Daphne was feeling magic at work, something so thick with meaning she minimized her own movements and sensory inputs to open up the widest possible channel for it.

"Oooo…" she said, visibly enjoying something.

"Nothing," said Harry. "Nothing Dark. Lots of magic, though, as you said."

His voice broke the flow for Daphne. Her nose flared, she breathed in deeply and opened her eyes wide.

"We can stop, unless you just want to go on for familiarization purposes," said Daphne. "I don't need to look further for my ring. These are a matched pair of wedding bands. This is the one I want you to put on my finger at sunup on our wedding day. Forget an engagement ring. I have Iolanthe's ring and that is more than enough. Some big rock on the left would be an insult to this. Merlin, I wonder how old these are?"

Daphne, whispering, almost to herself by then, had taken the smaller ring out of the box and was turning it over and over. Harry could see what looked like little letters carved into the thick band of metal.

"What are they, platinum?" he asked.

"No, they're silver, and really fine silver, older than modern methods for working platinum," Daphne said. She looked inside the band. "Something else to look up in a good guide. The runes are for fertility…"

"Good enough for me," Harry interrupted, earning a look. Luckily, it wasn't a dangerously bad look, there in the close quarters of the vault.

"…good fortune, faith, family," Daphne said. "Possibly goblin work. Take yours out."

Harry did as he was told.

"Strength, victory, love, good fortune," she read. "Subject to a little more research. Runes weren't my strong suit."

"We'll have to study up," said Harry, just getting the words out before Daphne grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him to her. Harry's leg bumped the stool when he moved, displacing a few of the little boxes, sending them clattering to the floor but Daphne forced him to ignore them while she kissed him, hard.

"These are what we're wearing, Harry Potter," Daphne said. She had a fierce look on, something Harry had seen in flashes, nothing more, and those were rare. This is something new, he thought.

"As you wish, Lady Daphne," said an astonished Harry, adding his promotion of his lover to Narcissa's, although neither of them felt such a protocol violation constituted a sin against Nature. In fact, he was rewarded with another kiss for his cheek.

They let things calm down a bit and picked up the spillage. With the ring question settled they gained the peace of mind necessary to do some sightseeing in the unopened boxes. Daphne and Harry were both impressed with the beauty of the collection. Daphne was better at spotting the superior gems and craftsmanship but Harry had a good eye for design and balance between the stones and their settings.

"Harry, you have some museum pieces," said Daphne. "We might have to give some thought to getting these out so they're seen. It's too much beauty to keep hidden away. The world can't get too much of such loveliness."

"We can do that," said Harry. "Want to take these home?"

He meant the pair of silver rings Daphne had picked out.

"Me?" she asked.

"I was thinking of the manor, but if you want to…"

"You'd better, you have better security," Daphne said. "Will you let me get them out and look, from time to time?"

Harry was laughing as he closed the metal drawer. He checked the ring box one more time to make sure the pair was inside before dropping it into his trouser pocket and giving the pocket a tap with his wand tip, sealing it closed.

"You'll get tired of them," he teased. "Putting it on for real will be anti-climactic."

"No, it won't," said Daphne, the steel back in her voice. She looked around the peculiar vault. "Do you know who installed this? They must have materialized it right here, somehow. I guess they could have brought it down in pieces."

"I don't know who put it in. I've learned we don't have a lot of Potter vaults," said Harry. "We have one door to the common area outside, but there are subdivisions inside here. It's a little different approach from some."

Harry checked his watch.

"Working tonight? I have time to look around, if you want a tour," he said.

Daphne must have hesitated. Getting to enter a family vault before she joined the family, even if she was in the company of the chief, was rare, not unheard-of but nearly so. She knew of noble witches who had never seen the inside of their husband's family vault. Some chiefs were prickly that way.

"If you're sure…" she said.

"What harm?" said Harry. "The worst that could happen would be you would dump me and then you'd have to look over your shoulder forever because I'd be checking to see if you were spilling Potter family secrets."

"I know you well enough to grasp that you're having a laugh at my expense," objected Daphne.

"You spoil all my fun," Harry replied. "Look at this room here—what do you think of these candlesticks?"

"Just a bit profligate," Daphne observed. "Gold candlesticks covered in the inevitable wax. I wonder when these came in here?"

"Um…Hadn't thought of that," said Harry. "The first time I saw them I couldn't help wondering if we'd come by them legally."

Daphne rewarded Harry with a real belly laugh.

"It wasn't that long ago and the doctrine was if you had them, you'd come by them legally, even if the original transaction was theft or murder," Daphne said.

"Yeah, well, maybe we almost went back to that," Harry said. "My old adversary wasn't big on law and order, it didn't seem to me."

Harry picked up one of the candlesticks and looked at the crest on the base.

"Hell-OH!" he said. "There is a story here. I need to talk to Grandmother Dorea. That is the Black crest. Never noticed it before. I wonder how long this has been here? Did some Potter make off with these? Maybe they were handed over as reparations for some injury. Probably something much tamer. Great-grandmother's dowry or the like."

"Any way you look at it they belong to you now," said Daphne. "Unless you want to return them to yourself, Lord Potter to Lord Black as a gesture of reconciliation."

They toured a bit more before exiting.

"The Blacks are down there," said Harry with a wave as he closed the Potter vault door. "We'll have to get a fresh inventory and go through it all. I'm NOT looking forward to that. I visited one time, just to establish myself with the charms and security spells. You won't believe the mess."

"We'll figure it out," said Daphne. "We'll just do a schedule and commit to being there when we agree to be there. Work together. Keep a sense of humor."

"Get it organized," Harry said in agreement.

"Bring order out of chaos," Daphne concluded.

Harry didn't insist that Daphne accompany him to Potter Manor but his suggestion was so intense and saturated with clear hopes that Daphne would come that she smiled and said she would be delighted. She was actually getting tired and had planned to go back to her flat alone for some uninterrupted sleep until such time as she woke up. That was a rare treat for a healer with Daphne's combination of private practice and hospital rotation.

"I think…" Harry began as he waited for the great front door to close and lock itself.

"Nothing?" asked Harry, turning and walking down the hall.

He waited for the door to say something like, "Putz," but it finished with a simple yawning sound.

"I think in here," Harry continued as he stepped into the dining room.

A large, glass-fronted china cabinet dominated one wall. Kreacher kept it filled with all kinds of tableware polished to within microns of disappearing altogether.

"Madam Walburga?" said Harry. Walburga and her lads began blinking their eyes.

"Oh, it's you," said Walburga. "And Daphne! Well, now, this isn't so bad after all."

"Good afternoon, Madam," Daphne said. "How are you and the young gentlemen this afternoon?"

"Tolerable, dear," said Walburga. "Anything I can do for you?"

"There is, Madam," said Harry. "Healer Daphne and I have declared our love and agreed to marry. The calendar will eventually clear and we will conclude this matter and embark on a new life of love and harmony. We set out today to visit Gringotts and look through the Potter jewelry for an official engagement ring. However, Healer Daphne is a very practical witch and wasn't particularly interested in more frou-frou for her beautiful healer's hands. She did have the taste and presence of mind to spot this pair of wedding rings. I wonder if you will be kind enough to handle security until we're able to begin wearing them as husband and wife?"

Walburga grinned from ear to ear, a complete break from her usual stern and disapproving look. Harry opened the box and held the pair of silver rings up toward the portrait.

"Oh, my dear!" Walburga exclaimed. "Those are exquisite! Potter is right, your taste far exceeds your contemporaries with their flashy bijou. Are those runes?"

"They are, conveying blessings for myself and for his lordship," said Daphne, "Faith, love…"

Daphne stopped speaking, her voice caught for a moment, then dropped, as if she were respecting the sacred nature of her next words.

"…Fertility. Family…"

Harry could hear, in Daphne's tone, just how moved she was. Daphne almost sounded like she was taking a vow to love, honor and cherish, right there in the dining room with Walburga in the role of officiant. He stepped closer and laid a hand lightly across the small of her back.

"Daphne," Harry whispered.

Daphne turned her head and gave him a smile. Harry's free hand held the ring box, which he closed before putting the first knuckle of his first finger under her chin and leaning in. He brushed his lips on Daphne's and returned her smile. Harry turned, slowly, toward Walburga.

"What we had in mind, Madam, was asking you to keep an eye on these," Harry said. He let Daphne go and crossed to the china cabinet.

"One more look?" asked Harry, directing the question to Daphne.

"Oh, I think everything from the last three minutes is permanently etched in my memory," she said. "Perhaps I'll take a peek in two or three weeks."


	35. Chapter 35

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Thirty-five

I Thee Wed

Astoria and Draco were married at Greengrass Manor in the runup to Yule. Cyrus seemed on the verge of bursting with pride throughout the candle-lit ceremony. Every inch the gracious magical host, his wife and daughters deferred to Cyrus throughout the festivities, past attempts to monetize the disbursement of marriageable Greengrass progeny forgiven, if not forgotten. He was kitted out in a striking magical/formal mishmash of black velvet dancing slippers, formal trousers, a black silk vest, and a seasonal green-and-red papillon all topped off by a black wizard's robe. Cordelia looked better than she had in years. She was clear-eyed, had shed the pickled look and Fluff was delighted to spend two or three hours a day with Cordelia, potions and lotions. Daphne watched Cordelia throughout the reception. As far as she could tell her mother carried a champagne flute of ginger ale, taking a sip from time to time and abstaining from the serious beverages.

Harry was glad to have Astoria married off as it meant he and Daphne could start making their own plans. He suggested to Daphne that they let things settle down and get married on May 1, Beltane. Daphne was ecstatic. She had gotten, or self-generated, the idea that she and her husband would take their vows outdoors, at sunrise, on one of the seasonal holidays according to the old calendar.

"I was sure you would hold out for Imbolc," she said, "February. In the snow."

"Wouldn't want that," Harry assured her.

Harry had no idea why Daphne was so attached to her vision for a dawn wedding. The first time it came up he asked for the origin story. He had never heard of an old custom embedded in any of the traditions and still-extant cultures in the stew that was Magical Britain that spoke of dawn weddings on a traditional holiday.

"I honestly don't know," Daphne said. "I don't remember it from a book or nursery story. I also don't remember ever wanting anything different. Maybe it came to me in a vision."

Harry didn't object. He thought Daphne would be a beautiful bride indoors or out, any day of the year, at any time of day. If she envisioned exchanging vows at sunup, Harry would endeavor to give her what she wanted.

That disjointed conversation marked the official beginning of the planning for the wedding of Harry James Potter and Daphne Alexandra Greengrass. They tried mightily to keep the wedding small and simple. Daphne loved the old holidays and didn't care where she'd gotten the idea, she just wanted to exchange vows with Harry as the sun came up on Beltane.

It was the sunrise aspect more than anything that kept the number of attendees low. Putting the time of the wedding on the invitations gave all of the invitees fair warning. When the conversation got around to it some days after the wedding, Harry and Daphne were in complete agreement that the people they really wanted to see came, and the people they considered their real friends were the bulk of the people in attendance.

Harry had been studying Daphne for months. She finished the crimson gown and started right in on another in emerald green. Harry knew they had some his-and-her's significance. He had no idea what that was. His working hypothesis was the gowns were part of some Greengrass family magical tradition. Harry didn't know why that was because he hadn't heard it from Daphne nor had he read of it in any of the Greengrass grimoires they had worked through together.

"Ever heard of this?" Harry asked one evening as he handed an open volume across to Daphne.

"Whose is it?" Daphne asked as she turned the book around to look at the spine. "Greengrass."

Harry gave her a minute to scan the page.

"One of yours has the same thing," Daphne said. She got up from her chair and stood facing her bookshelf. "Here."

Daphne chose a book and sat back down. It took a while but she found what she was looking for. Taking both books, she moved to the floor between the chair and Harry's spot on her couch.

"Want to compare?" Daphne asked.

The two grimoires described a ritual any couple could perform although it was clearly meant for newlyweds. Both parties drew a little blood that was mixed in a bowl with some common herbs and used in painting runes on their bodies with wishes for the other—fertility, health, good fortune, bountiful crops. One rune was different in that individuals painted it on themselves, over their own heart. It was the rune for fidelity.

"Hold on now," Harry said. "Not that I'm planning anything unseemly, but if the ritual works, and the person has an unplanned, what is the word?"

"You mean if they stray?" said Daphne with just a little tilt of the head.

"Inadvertently, let's say," suggested Harry. "Without really thinking…"

"And your concern would be?" asked Daphne, pressing on.

"Is that it? Do they just keel over? Go belly-up? According to this it's to be painted right over their heart."

"Uh-huh, that is what it looks like," said Daphne, her voice starting to sound a bit concerned. "I don't suppose a wizard who swore to be faithful would want to go on living if he did such a thing, do you?"

"My reasoning had not really gotten that far, to tell you the truth," Harry said.

"Oh, well, I was thinking it was symbolic, an old and beautiful ritual a new couple would perform together to express their love and give them a precious memory to carry to the end of their days, but if you are concerned…"

"Daphne, you know I want you to have your fill of precious memories," protested Harry. "If you think this is safe for us to do then of course we'll do it. I'll paint the rune myself. My runic calligraphy is really coming along."

"But only if I certify it as safe?" Daphne asked, her lips a little pouty. "Destroy the mystery…"

Harry looked up from the Greengrass grimoire. Something gave Daphne away, perhaps the smile that was trying desperately to pull up the corners of her mouth despite her best effort to hold it in.

"Yeah," said Harry, "Only if it isn't going to give me a heart attack if I'm taken by surprise by a sudden appearance of…of…an extraordinary attraction."

That did it and Daphne howled with laughter.

"Harry Potter, you finagler," she said. "That doesn't even make sense. Well, I think this is simply a private exchange of blessings between two people, except for the promise of fidelity. That is something of a 'Cross my heart' gesture, I'd say. Kind of sweet."

"Then we'll do it," Harry said.

Harry and Daphne exchanged vows in the garden at Greengrass Manor on May 1, at dawn, just as Daphne's vision had decreed. Daphne walked up to the altar barefoot through the wet grass, her gown soaking up water all the way. Harry tried not to but she was so beautiful in the rosy dawn light he was crying when she reached him and they joined hands.

Cyrus and Cordelia served a buffet breakfast after the ceremony, the informality giving everyone the opportunity to chat up the newlyweds. Harry watched Daphne with something like awe apparent on his face. She remembered names, she knew something about everyone, asked about babies, elderly parents and grandparents, promised visits just as soon as they could be arranged and generally held the entire gathering in the palm of her hand.

Her hands told their own story. They were graced, of course, by two simple rings. She wore Iolanthe's sapphire on the little finger of her right hand. Harry had put her thick silver wedding band with its runes on her left ring finger. The first time Harry got a good look at Daphne's two hands together he saw the genius in her selection.

"Look closely," said her hands, "THESE are how a witch's hands look."

As the last of their guests departed Daphne signaled Harry it was time to take their leave of Cyrus and Cordelia. They were going by apparition straight to Potter Manor so they didn't bother changing.

"In here," Daphne said, as soon as the great front door closed, and she led the way into the salon. The portraits were uncovered and began waking up as the lamps and sconces lit themselves.

"Oh, Daphne, welcome home," exclaimed Dorea. The others joined in, a cacophony of greetings and blessings. It was Daphne's turn to cry a little. Everyone wanted to know what the latest Mistress of Potter Manor planned to do first.

"First we're going to visit with James and Lily," said Daphne, "this was strictly to say hello."

No one could argue with her on that point, and some began encouraging her to go on to the breakfast room because she would have plenty of time later to come back and chat up the old fogeys in the salon.

"Mum? Dad? Hullo, hullo," said Harry when they got there. "Would you care to greet Mrs. Potter?"

"Daphne!" exclaimed Lily, "Your dress!"

Daphne started to laugh.

"It's dry now," she said, although the press had gone out of it and she had kicked up bits of grass that clung to the fabric from her knees down to her ankles. Daphne still hadn't bothered to put on shoes. "Here, Lily, I'd like to leave this for you to enjoy for as long as it lasts."

Daphne put her bouquet on the breakfast table and stepped back.

"That is lovely," said James.

"Oh, Daphne, how thoughtful of you! Harry, a vase of water, please," added Lily. "I know a charm to help flowers stay fresh. It doesn't react with any others, as far as I know, so feel free."

Harry summoned Kreacher and soon had a vase for the bouquet and fresh coffee for his bride. Daphne listened carefully and cast the fresh-flower charm just as Lily instructed. They sat down at the table and talked and talked about the wedding, cutting off the conversation only when the portraits started nodding off and having trouble finishing their sentences. Daphne put her first finger to her lips and motioned with her eyes.

"Change," said Harry as they started down the great central hallway. The hours were starting to take their toll and he was rationing his speech.

"Not much left in my tank, I don't know about you," Harry said. They had split in the upstairs hall, Harry taking the master suite bath and Daphne using hers. Freshened and slightly energized by a quick lukewarm shower, Harry was pulling on an ancient, much-loved pair of cavalry twill trousers. They'd once been as stiff as canvas but the years and washings added up and burnished the surface while pestering the hard right out of them. Harry took a white shirt from a hangar and pulled it on, buttoning the front, rolling up the sleeves and leaving the tail free.

"Making my way to a chair, in some shade," Harry mumbled, reaching for the doorknob.

Daphne gave him a bemused look.

"Oh, okay, newlywed," she said. "I suppose I'll just find my way to you, somehow…"

"Oh, I didn't think," said Harry, stuck between the need to mount a demonstration of affection for his wife and an opposing compulsion to get off his feet before he toppled over.

"Get out of here," Daphne said. "Dining room, two minutes?"

"Sure," said Harry.

What Daphne had in mind clarified as soon as Harry got downstairs. He called for Kreacher and ordered two fresh cups of coffee for the dining room, then waited in the hall for Daphne. Harry took Daphne's hand as they went in.

"Madam Walburga?" Harry asked. "May I present Mrs. Potter?"

If portraits could jump up and down Walburga and her sons would have done so. As it was their movements were restricted to two dimensions. The greetings and congratulations were not affected.

Coffee finished and social obligations met, Harry and Daphne headed for a commodious hammock tied in the shade between two oak trees. Harry wrapped his left arm around Daphne and pulled her close. Their left hands found one another, perhaps helped by the matching rings on that side. Harry dozed off thinking he felt a kind of soothing buzz where his palm lay on the back of Daphne's hand.

Two hours had passed, and the sun had moved, robbing the hammock of its shade when Harry blinked and looked around. Daphne still lay across his left arm, although they'd let go of the other's hand at some point.

"Hmmm….," said Daphne. She rubbed one of her feet on Harry's shin, up as far as she could go before the cuff of his trouser pushed back.

"I suppose we should get up and do something," Daphne went on.

"We don't have to," said Harry. "Unless you've got something to do besides stay right here and be the most beautiful bride ever."

"Oh, that's so tempting," Daphne said. She punctuated her thought with a kiss to Harry's lips. He answered in kind, holding her so she couldn't pop away.

"A little break? Stand up, stretch, unkink before you get cramps?" Daphne asked.

Harry stood a bit quickly and nearly fell over, underlining the wisdom of Daphne's suggestion.

Inside, over glasses of water, Harry raised the question of dinner. There hadn't been a need for lunch due to Cyrus and Cordelia's post-wedding buffet.

"What would you like to do?"

"Al-Andalus?" suggested Daphne.

"Sounds good," said Harry. "Always up for couscous. Not that it tastes better than rice, I just like to say it. Couscous."

Daphne had nothing to convey in response so she limited herself to a stare that went on and on. A change of subject was the only cure.

"Go by apparition?" Daphne asked.

"Very efficient," Harry said in agreement.

They arrived not long after the doors opened. Al-Andalus got a bit stuffy later in the evening as witches and wizards in gowns and formal robes stopped in, coming or going to other events or the theater. Before seven, though, the restaurant encouraged a more informal feel, catering to the after-work trade and shoppers having dinner out before heading for home. Harry still wore his khakis and tieless white shirt but he had pulled on an old robe from the hall tree as they went out to the front of the house to apparate away to London.

Harry's robe had a very discreet Order of Merlin rosette embroidered, in tasteful, muted colors, in its upper left quadrant. Harry wore the robe whenever he needed one for everyday business and forgot about his decoration. The Al-Andalus hostess, however, went wide-eyed. She looked closely at Harry, then Daphne and started laying on the hospitality.

"Lord Potter…Lady Potter…milord…milady…"

The hostess seemed intent on using every honorific in the dictionary, while Harry and Daphne became more and more self-conscious.

"Maybe one of the rooms off to the side?" Harry suggested.

The Potters were soon led to a curtained doorway that opened into a small room with a low table surrounded by cushions. They left their shoes on a small mat just inside and sat down to study the menu.

"Couscous," said Harry. "What do you want to go with it?"

Daphne chose a vegetarian tajine, as she always did. Harry hadn't known there was such a thing until he had taken Daphne to Al-Andalus the first time.

"Anything wrong?" Daphne asked.

She had been keeping an eye on Harry as he drank tea and forked vegetables into his mouth.

"No, why do you ask?"

"Because," said Daphne, "You are right-handed and you are picking up your teacup with your left hand and holding your fork in your left hand, and you drew your wand and laid it in your lap when you thought I was looking elsewhere."

Harry chewed up a Brussels sprout and swallowed, keeping half an eye on the curtain hung in the doorway. Even though they were in their own little room, Harry felt he should drop his voice and speak just for Daphne.

"On the way in, I saw something underneath the curtain of one of the other rooms. There is a brand of Italian hiking boots that is very recognizable. Dieter wore them, if you remember? Not that there is a law that says a witch or a wizard can't have a pair of Italian hiking boots in London, we just don't favor them. Not for walking city surfaces. Not for going out to Al-Andalus for dinner on Beltane."

"Ahhh…" said Daphne. She sat up a little straighter.

"No need to get primed for a duel, Lady Daphne, I'm just mentioning what I saw," Harry said.

"I'm glad you told me," said Daphne, "I might have missed the excitement. Not that there is necessarily going to be any."

Harry nodded.

"Exactly."

There wasn't any excitement, as it turned out, and when they left, the boots weren't visible in the room where Harry had seen them when they came in. Harry didn't know if there was any reason to be concerned about Bergs or their allied families. The only trail that led back to him was via the two lower-level companions of Marcella. Harry had obliviated those two, as gently as he could, relieving them of their memories of the hotel, Harry and Pansy, the dungeons and the other bits of Potter Manor they'd seen. His intent was to wipe the specific memories of people and places while leaving them enough of their faculties to find the way back to Our Place. It was just possible, with his careful approach, that he'd left more than intended.

When they got back to Potter Manor, Harry suggested they shower then embark on their private rune-painting ceremony. Daphne was all for it. She informed Harry she would have skipped their wedding day dinner and gone straight for the runes, given a choice. Harry wondered why she hadn't bothered to mention that. Daphne said a wizard wouldn't be able to focus with an empty stomach. She thought Harry would find rune painting much more enjoyable if he could focus.

"Makes sense," Harry agreed.

Harry returned from the shower to find Daphne already in their bedroom, sitting before a low dresser, completely naked. She had just opened a little drawstring bag of herbs and emptied it into a shallow terra cotta bowl. A cup of water sat near the bowl. Clouds of incense rose from a bronze censer.

"Ready?" Daphne asked.

Harry nodded.

"Me too," said Daphne, and without another word she picked up a small knife and sliced open the underside of her thumb. Daphne held her thumb over the bowl and let it bleed.

"Milord," she said, handing the knife to Harry.

When Daphne judged they had enough blood in the bowl she healed both of their thumbs with a touch of her wand, then picked up a bunch of rosemary sprigs and stirred water from the cup into the mixture.

Harry and Daphne had read the ritual multiple times and committed the runes and blessings to memory. When she judged the blood, herbs and water were ready, Daphne gave a nod and Harry picked up a small brush and dipped it into the bowl.

"Faith," Harry said, painting the rune on Daphne's forehead. "Good fortune. Family."

Harry painted another rune, one Daphne hadn't asked for, over her solar plexus.

"Love," he said.

Harry knelt down.

"Fertility," he whispered as he painted the rune just beneath her navel. Standing up, he handed Daphne the brush, which she dipped into the bowl before painting the rune for fidelity over her own heart. She went on painting, beginning with Harry's forehead.

"Faith."

Harry's right forearm got Strength.

Harry clenched his right fist and Daphne painted all the way around: "Victory."

On his left wrist, just above his hand: "Good fortune."

Harry took the brush and drew his own fidelity rune.

They really wanted to kiss but the ritual wasn't over. According to the grimoires, which were not identical but whose ideas tracked closely, they could not touch one another in an intimate fashion until the edge of the sun was seen in the east.

"Get my gown?" Daphne asked as she pointed to their bed.

The green and crimson gowns Daphne had sewn by hand, now covered with embroidered runes, were laid out, waiting. Harry picked up the green one as Daphne stretched her arms and inclined her head toward him. Harry put the open end over Daphne's arms which she then lifted up so the gown fell down and covered her. Daphne picked up Harry's crimson gown and returned the favor.

"Hedging our bets," she said. "I think the painting and the gowns may be two expressions of the same ritual. Whatever, the sewing and embroidering was something I wanted to do. For us. When we found the other I just kept going."

"I think it's lovely, but I suspect I'll appreciate it a great deal more in the morning, after a good night's sleep," Harry said.

"Both of us," said Daphne as she crossed to her side of the big canopied bed.

Harry and Daphne more or less collapsed on the bed and fell fast asleep in their runes amidst clouds and clouds of incense. Each observed the protocol and stayed on their own side.


	36. Chapter 36

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Thirty-six

Vision? Quest? Dream?

"Lord Harry."

"Harry Potter."

Harry Potter opened his eyes and looked around for the source of the sound that had awakened him. He was very tired after his long and demanding wedding day. There weren't any landmarks visible, at least none he recognized. Every line was softened and every color washed out by the foggy medium through which he walked.

Harry wondered when he had begun walking. Wasn't he in bed? Hadn't he just gone? Yes, he and Lady Daphne were sleeping side by side, their first night as husband and wife. He didn't remember getting out of bed. Harry wondered when he had awakened and when he had begun walking. It felt like he was walking around, on a beach, in fog. The footing wasn't soft, like the dry sand, but harder, like the part saturated with water where the waves reached inland, stopped and retreated back to the sea. Yes, the soles of his feet felt wet. They weren't cold, though. Harry knew that sand, had walked on it at the shore, the mix of water and sand firm yet giving way as his heel landed, his weight shifted and his toes pushed off. Harry walked and walked, lost in the rhythm of feet landing and lifting, sand giving way and bouncing back, wet strand stretching on and on and on to infinity. Harry had no idea how long he walked, alone on the strand. He of course knew he couldn't stay in England and walk to infinity. Infinity has no bounds. England bumps up against Wales, and Scotland, and water. Harry wondered if he would ever see anything on his journey.

"Harry."

A shape appeared in the fog, a barely hinted-at suggestion at first. It filled in slowly, solidifying until it was recognizable. The shape closed on Harry, who reflexively thought of his wand and wondered why he couldn't feel it in one of its usual places. Harry and the shape had been walking in the same direction, their courses separated but slowly converging. The tangents brought them nearer and nearer until they walked together. No more tangents, just two people walking together through the fog in their gowns, feet slapping the wet sand.

"Daphne. What are you doing here?"

Daphne wore the green gown that she'd sewn by hand. She looked wonderful in the gown, covered in runes. Harry was glad he had been studying because he could read Daphne like a book.

"Faith, love, good fortune, destiny."

Harry stopped reading. He didn't recall seeing the rune for destiny on Daphne's gown, but there it was. He looked down and saw fidelity embroidered in the upper left and remembered painting the same rune over his heart, thinking of how it was a gift for his wife. He was glad to give it. He was even more glad he had a wife to give it to.

"I like your gown," Harry said.

"Thank-you," said Daphne. "You're quite fetching yourself."

"Is this a dream?" Harry asked. "Or, was that a potion in the bowl? Did we make a potion and bewitch ourselves?"

"Um, I don't know for certain," said Daphne, "But I think we might be in a dream, perhaps a potion-induced dream. We'll have to observe as we go along, won't we? There don't seem to be any reference books so our job will be to explore all of this and do our own research. Learn as we go. It's our vision one way or the other."

"Oh," Harry said. "Let's see."

Harry thought of a rose-colored fog. The fog turned rose.

"See that?" Harry asked.

"The red fog?" asked Daphne.

"It's rose," said Harry. "I wondered what everything would look like in a rose-colored fog and it changed."

"Close enough," said Daphne. "Rose it is. I guess that answers the question about the origin. We are making this together. You have to help me remember these things because it doesn't look like we have any means of writing it down."

"We'll start our own grimoire as soon as we're back. Assuming we get back, of course. You're not concerned, are you? I hope I didn't bring you here against your will. Are you walking on wet sand?" Harry asked. "Like at the shore?"

"I am," said Daphne. "Although, speaking just for myself, I'd prefer grass. Thick green grass clipped right down to the soil."

Their walking surface turned to grass, giving them something more visually interesting to look at as they walked through the fog.

The rose faded, replaced by green. Harry wondered if Daphne saw green fog but before he could speak the fog turned blue. Harry and Daphne walked out of the green and right into the blue, a deep lapis lazuli blue punctuated by puffy cumulus clouds. There hadn't been a transition from walking to flying, as best Harry could recall.

Harry worried about crashing to the ground, but, looking down, he saw the ground coming up slowly, making him think they were just out for a stroll in the sky and were now de-levitating. When they reached the surface, they continued walking, this time on a lane that meandered between fields bounded by stone walls. The fog had given way to air so clear it let everything be defined by the sharpest, sharpest edges. Harry thought the air quality so superior that their walk was analogous to walking through crystal, even though crystal is hard. He wondered where in the Universe one went to find a crystal in a gaseous state.

An internal voice spoke and told him he was thinking rationally and to cut it out.

"Wheat," Harry said. "Green, just forming heads."

"Sheep," said Daphne. "Look! Lambs!"

Someone sat on the wall watching the lambs playing in the pasture. They had a crook and a rough satchel with a wide strap. When he and Daphne got closer, Harry could see the satchel was completely covered with embroidery. He guessed the satchel was originally canvas but had become more embroidery than stock material. They walked up close enough to see the person sitting on the wall was a woman.

"Madam," Daphne called out. "Good morning! How are things?"

"They're as they are, Lady Daphne. Like always. The one thing you can count on, I say."

Harry wondered how Madam knew Daphne but just for a moment, before his attention moved to the little wooden device that sat on the mystery woman's lap. After a moment's consideration Harry decided it was a loom, a portable contraption the woman could take from place to place. It looked like it would fit into the embroidered satchel. He watched the shuttle move right, pause as the loom shifted, then move back left. The motion moved a toothed gear that turned a shaft. The cloth emerged from the loom and was rolled around the shaft, the roll of cloth moved one tooth, a fraction of a fraction of a turn with each cycle, growing the bolt by one thread, then one more, then one more.

Harry wondered how the woman could bring enough thread to feed her loom. The bobbin she was using didn't look like it could hold enough for a day's work and the satchel didn't have bobbin-shaped lumps indicating there were more than the one in use.

"Look at the flock," the woman said, answering without being asked. "Follow the thread. It comes from the flock and feeds the bobbin. The bobbin feeds the loom as the flock feeds the bobbin. Do you like it?"

Harry looked at the thread that began in the flock, fed the bobbin and continued on to the shuttle that wove the cloth, passing back and forth over and over again.

"It's perfect," he said.

"Yes, and no," said the woman. "The Loom works and works and does the same thing every time, over and over and over again, and yet, there are imperfections. Most are undetectable to all but the sharpest, best-trained eyes. The purpose doesn't change. The purpose is to pursue perfection, in the knowledge that perfection is unattainable, except in the largest, all-encompassing sense. This…"

Madam gestured with one hand, a sweep of the flock, the pasture, the wheat, the stone wall, the sky, sun, clouds, air, Harry and Daphne.

"…All of it, together, is perfect. The imperfect comes out of the perfect and is added to it, which then becomes a contribution to All, which is made perfect for the inclusion."

"Why is that?" Harry asked.

"One makes it that way," said the woman. "One does this all the time. One conceives and by thought brings This about, then the Loom works and produces cloth with imperfection that becomes part of All and All is perfect. One goes on and conceives, over and over and by a thought This becomes and the Loom commences work. It is all One. Do you see?"

"Yes," said Daphne. "We are outside our world, aren't we? May I pay my respects?"

"Of course," said the woman. She turned back toward her flock as Daphne placed her hands on top of the wall and hopped over. Daphne pulled up her gown and knelt before the woman sitting on the wall, taking her feet between her hands and kissing them.

"Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you," Daphne said over and over again. She began to cry and Harry saw the woman's bare feet, shiny with Daphne's tears.

"Harry," Daphne whispered. Harry understood he was to join with Daphne and thank the woman on the wall.

"Thank-you, Madam," Harry said as he kissed the woman's feet. Daphne's tears tasted salty on his lips. Harry wondered who he was thanking, and for what.

"What can we do for you?" Daphne asked. She still knelt before the woman.

"Live your life," said the woman. "Your life is a gift, given free and clear. The only repayment ever requested of anyone is to live it. That is your contribution to the perfection."

The woman had her hand on Daphne's head, stroking her waves. Daphne nodded.

"Thank-you," Daphne said. "I felt this for as long as I can remember but that was as far as I could go."

"Reason is very handy for understanding certain things, not for others. Wizard, go collect some wood," the woman ordered. Harry got up and walked, following the wall toward some trees. There ought to be some wood there.

"Daphne, please bring me that lamb," said the woman, pointing.

Daphne jerked back.

"Madam?"

"Just walk over there," said the woman. "You can do it. You do things to your patients that you don't want to do but you do them because that is how your patients will get better. That lamb, please, Daphne."

"Madam," Daphne said, agreeing this time. She stood up.

"He won't run, just pick him up in your arms and bring him over. He's quite willing, really."

Daphne picked up the lamb. It was clean and alert and Daphne sensed it trusted her completely. She got the lamb back to the woman as Harry arrived with his armload of firewood, every size from twig to one thick branch, all dry and ready to burn.

The woman took the lamb and held it to her breast with one arm while she drew a knife from her belt with the opposite hand. In one motion she kissed the lamb on top of its head and slit its throat. Blood gushed from the wound and the lamb's bright eyes grew dim in the midst of surprise. Somehow the woman had swiveled and the lamb's blood poured out on the wall without a drop on the woman's skin or clothing. Daphne's instinct was to look away even as the blood and violence took away her will and held her. She looked at the loom as it continued to work on its own. Some red threads appeared in the cloth.

"Get a fire going, Wizard," the woman ordered. "We'll need coals and a spit."

Harry reached for his wand but hadn't brought it from their world, so he pointed at the wood fire he'd laid on the ground and thought '_inflammare_.' The small sticks caught first, igniting the ones that were a bit larger, until the flames worked their way up to the branch.

"Two or three more of those, Wizard," said the woman, "Don't forget a spit."

Some hours later the lamb had been butchered, run through with the spit and roasted over the coals. The woman took the spit with the lamb and held it by the end.

"Should be cool enough," she said. "Wizard?"

"Madam, you have the honor," said Harry.

"Well put," smiled the woman. She turned to Daphne. "I think…Wizard, your wife is hungry."

The woman held the spit toward Harry. He looked around for something to carve off a piece of the lamb. There didn't seem to be anything about so he grasped the lamb at the pelvis used his fingers to pull off a substantial piece, which he held to Daphne's lips. Daphne opened her mouth and accepted the meat.

The woman held the spit for Daphne, who pinched off a chunk of lamb and fed it to Harry. Only then did the woman help herself to some of the lamb.

"I'm very pleased you came," said the woman. "Do you see? So few take the time."

"Yes," Daphne nodded. "All feed all. All are One. The flock gives the thread, the bobbin supplies the loom, the loom weaves the cloth. The imperfections are part of the whole which is perfect."

"Exactly," said the woman.

She stripped the remaining meat from the spit and laid it on the lambskin that was atop the wall, still dripping here and there. The heart, lungs, liver, entrails and head were all placed on the skin, which the woman wrapped up into a rough ball and tossed on the fire.

Flames roared toward the sky and Harry felt the flash scorch his face. He wondered if the burnt hair smell came from the hide or his eyebrows, but he didn't have time to ponder before a black lamb jumped out of the fire, kicked live coals in every direction and ran toward the flock.

"Baa-aa-aa!" it called.

"Baa! Baa!" answered a ewe as the black lamb ran up and began to nurse.


	37. Chapter 37

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Thirty-seven

A Denouement

"Madam, what are you?" Harry asked.

"Harry Potter, did you ask _what_?" countered the woman.

Harry wasn't intimidated, just curious.

"Who does not seem to apply," he said. "At least, not to me."

Harry looked at Daphne to see if she had an opinion. The woman laughed, quite heartily, too.

"Well done, Harry Potter," she said, "Did you think it through or was that instinct speaking?"

"Not sure, could have been both, couldn't it?"

"Is there no end to you?" said the woman. "Come here."

Harry stepped closer.

"What am I? This!" said the woman as her palm connected with Harry's forehead. Hard.

Harry rocked back and had to take a step to keep from falling.

Harry looked straight ahead and saw the woman, the path, the stone wall across the lane, a line of trees, the sky that was blue then violet then black, stars, great clusters of stars arranged in spiral discs that careened across the black void. Harry knew from his reading those were galaxies playing in the heavens, usually keeping lots of room between themselves and their neighbors but occasionally merging in great combinations.

Harry blinked.

"Oh, you're…"

Harry was stumped. His mind wasn't big enough to encompass the thought that the woman they'd happened upon was all of creation, and it didn't seem right to call her God.

"Nope, you're thinking too much," she said. "I'm just the manifestation, to you, of all of this. A construct, or possibly a caricature. There are more of us, many, many more, but you would have to travel between the dimensions to find more of my kind. Don't try that, by the way. Not while you still occupy a material body."

"I was going to ask if we'll see you again, but I suppose we see you all the time," Harry said.

The woman smiled a huge, satisfied smile. She gave Harry just one nod.

"Enjoy the rest of your walk," she said.

Harry looked at Daphne.

"Guess that is that," he said.

"You did well," said Daphne.

"I survived an encounter with ultimate reality," said Harry.

"That's what I meant," Daphne said. "Walk?"

"Lovely lane, good company, nice day for it," said the well-organized, businessman Harry.

The newlyweds set a comfortable pace and followed the lane. Harry enjoyed walking right on the edge of breaking into a sweat. He kept asking if he was going too fast. Daphne assured him he wasn't. They topped a hill and saw a manor in the distance.

"I didn't know this came out here," said Harry. They got to the far edge of the front lawn of Potter Manor. Harry turned and looked back the way they'd come.

"If we had some sheep the elves wouldn't have to tend this lawn," he said.

The words came out but Harry's conscious thoughts were pushed aside by the vision of Potter Manor, happy sheep on his front lawn, Harry and Daphne, Astoria and Draco, Neville and Hannah, Ron and Hermione, flocks of sheep commingled with flocks of children, dogs, cats, parrots, a loom and galaxies cavorting with galaxies and lambs.

"It's complicated," said a voice from inside.

"Nothing we can't handle together," said Harry. He realized he had said it out loud.

"You said what I was thinking," said Daphne.

Harry looked around and saw the familiar bedroom at Potter Manor. The incense from the night before had staying power. Harry breathed in. It was almost as strong as it had been when they went to sleep.

"Have you been awake?" Harry asked.

"Just woke up," said Daphne. "I was dreaming about taking a walk with you and that business about 'Nothing we can't handle together' popped into my head just as you said it. What a nice coincidence."

"Grimoire," Harry said.

He rolled and swung his feet over the side of the bed. Harry's gown had bunched up near his waist so Daphne reached over and pinched his bottom.

"Mrs. Potter!" Harry said as he stood.

"I know, I just always wanted to do that," said Daphne as she slid toward her side. "Paper, quills and ink are in the desk in the salon. Why don't I meet you there with coffee and put in an order with Kreacher for some eggs or muffins or something?"

Harry started writing up a report on the previous evening, beginning with going out to dinner. There wasn't a reason for starting with couscous and a vegetarian tajine, although every narrative has to start somewhere. Al-Andalus seemed like a pleasant place to begin.

Daphne listened while Harry read back his paragraph about dinner.

"Nice, not sure of the relevance," said Daphne.

"Let's move on to coming home, rinsing off, painting runes…" Harry said.

Daphne dictated her recollection of preparing the materials. Harry wanted to clarify what the blood, water and herb mix was.

"Was that a potion? Did we potion ourselves?" Harry asked.

"Make it a footnote," said Daphne. "We don't know enough, do we? Someone might have a question later on and we don't want to steer them wrong. You're writing for the ages."

Harry sat up, straight as an arrow.

"Oi!" he said, "You're so right. Some of the dates in these things!"

"Is this your first entry?" asked Daphne.

"Yes," said Harry. "Yours?"

"Yup," Daphne confirmed. "I had read a little bit of Greengrass, with Mum. She was using it as source material for introducing me, and Astoria, I guess, to what she called 'Witches' Duties.'"

"She called it that? She meant physical…demonstration…of affection?" asked Harry.

"Yes, otherwise known as sex, you prude. You don't have to dance around it, husband, everyone expects we're going at it like little bunnies right now, according to tradition."

"Right, we can get to that soon," Harry said. "What about this approach—we followed an old rite and took private vows on our own. I note the references and dates. We prepared a solution and drew runes on our bodies that amount to promises between us as well as mutual blessings expressing our hopes for happy, fruitful and satisfying lives with one another as we go forward in life?"

"That works, go ahead," said Daphne.

Harry wrote out the draft on some blank sheets of cheap paper. He wrote quickly as he was desperate to get started on the breakfast items Kreacher had brought to the salon.

"Let's see," said Daphne when Harry stopped writing. Harry handed her his notes and took up a plate of scrambled eggs and fried potatoes.

"I like it," Daphne said. "Clean it up, copy it out on parchment and you've got Lord Harry's first entry in the new Potter Grimoire. Maybe that should be the Potter-Black Grimoire."

"Hmm…we're going to need to make decisions on how to style ourselves, now, aren't we?" asked Harry. "What do you want to do about Greengrass? You'll be doing entries, too."

"True," said Daphne. "That doesn't have to be decided today. Back to the present—how are you doing? I'm very well-rested. Want to write up some notes on the experience?"

"Our dream?" Harry asked.

"Or vision," Daphne said.

It was late morning before the newlywed Lord and Lady Potter left the salon, hung up their gowns and showered off the remains of their rune-painting.

"I'm glad we did that," said Harry as they got dressed. "The runes?"

"Yeah, me too," Daphne agreed. "Lots of mystery to unravel there. I haven't read or heard anywhere about that woman or the symbolism of the loom, the lamb or any of it."

"Did I feed you, when we were there?" Harry asked.

"Yes, the lamb?"

"Lamb," Harry affirmed. "You fed me, too."

"One big circle," said Daphne.

They walked downstairs together and out to the breakfast room.


	38. Chapter 38

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Thirty-eight

Return of a Matriarch

"They're really sleeping," said Harry with a little gesture toward the portraits of Lily and James. "I'm for an iced tea in the garden, how about you?"

Once settled outside, Harry and Daphne were soon lost in individual reveries beginning with taking their vows at Greengrass Manor and continuing through the return home, greeting the sacred portraits, napping in the hammock and the dinner at Al-Andalus.

"Oh, Perdition!"

Harry sat up straight in his lawn chair.

"What?"

"Nothing," Harry said.

"Harry Potter!"

"I'll take care of it," Harry said. "You have other things to keep you busy. Don't worry."

"Let me explain something, since we are right at the starting line of our lives together," Daphne said, "Then I won't have to do it over and over again. With me?"

"Of course, one hundred percent, as always," said Harry.

"Fine, here it is," Daphne continued. "When you say, 'Don't worry,' you're really telling me I've got something to worry about. Something serious."

"So that's a code, of sorts?" Harry asked. "The truth is, I don't want to make more out of this than it already is, but you asked, so here goes: I have been thinking about the other pair of shoes that I saw, sitting next to the hiking boots, in the little private room as we walked in Al-Andalus. I knew I'd seen them before somewhere. I just remembered where it was. Laurent Selwyn was wearing an identical pair at Draco and Astoria's lawn party. That's not to say two pairs of shoes is evidence Laurent Selwyn is allying with the Bergs. It is food for thought, though."

"Oh, Perdition!" said Daphne.

"Hold on, Daphne," said Harry, "Two pairs of shoes, no other indications the one pair belonged to a Berg and the other to Selwyn. We can't let our imaginations run away with us. Let's take this one step at a time."

Daphne looked at Harry with a kind of sleepy-eyed, neutral face.

"As you wish," she said, her expression unchanging, while the effect was one of pronounced skepticism.

Merlin! Harry hoped, silently, that Daphne hadn't suddenly become prescient.

He didn't have time to think about it right then, though, because a definite C-r-r-ack! from out front announced the arrival of someone, or likely more than one someone, on the front lawn.

Harry got up and walked through the house to the front door, where he looked out at the lawn via one of the sidelights.

"Pansy! Morag! Come on in," Harry said as he opened the door. "Daphne's taking a little fresh air and sunshine. Go on through."

They walked down the central hallway and were soon at the breakfast room

"Her bouquet?" Pansy asked, pointing. She saw the bouquet in the vase on the table in the breakfast room, surmised it was there for Lily and James to enjoy and got a little teary.

"Uh-huh," said Harry.

"Pansy!" said Daphne. "And Morag!"

"Daphne, I just saw your bouquet inside and that is the sweetest thing I've ever seen! I can't remember anyone doing that. I hereby commend you for your humanitarian work," said Pansy.

Morag looked on with a slightly bemused expression. Harry caught her eye. Morag smiled and Harry smiled back.

"Something to drink? Late breakfast, perhaps? Early lunch?" Harry offered.

"Not me," said Pansy, who still followed her eating and exercise program.

"Nor me, thanks, though," said Morag.

"How's it going, Newlyweds?" asked Pansy. "If we're intruding, feel free to kick us out. We brought you these. Thank-you again for inviting us to the wedding. Dawn, on Beltane! Just spectacular."

Daphne was nodding along, trying to keep up with the barrage of narrative, accepting a bunch of cut flowers and agreeing with everything Pansy said.

"Sit down, sit down," said Harry, summoning a lawn chair with an '_accio!_' Daphne followed Harry's lead and summoned a second.

"Don't know if you've heard anything, or not," said Morag as she sat down. "Romilda had a baby boy last week."

"Great," said Harry. "Everything okay? Mother, baby?"

"Fine, both of them," said Morag. "She's still keeping a low profile. I would, too, if I were her. Her father fixed her up with a very weird crowd."

Harry looked at Daphne, who looked at Harry, then Pansy. When Daphne broke eye contact with Harry he looked at Pansy, too.

"Yep," said Harry. Pansy knew she shouldn't laugh, it was a serious situation, but Harry's succinct summing-up was too droll by far.

"What did she name her baby?" Daphne asked Morag. That was surely safe.

Morag looked at Pansy, who looked back and shrugged.

"She's held off recording the birth," said Morag. "It's kind of complicated. Angus goes by Livia's and checks on her once in a while. Both say, privately, there is nothing going on. Angus claims he's too old to be any good for someone her age, and besides, he never took anyone seriously after Walburga. He told me about your portrait, by the way. Thanks for letting him in on that. Romilda says she's not interested in another marriage right now. Still, she's appreciative. Anyone thinking about her welfare gets her attention. At any rate, I suspect she'd like to finesse the youngster's name to keep Vane and Berg out of the official records."

It took a while for the implications of Morag's comment to penetrate.

"Ohh…" Harry said. "Can't fault her intent but I'd hate for Angus…"

Harry caught himself before he spoke the words. Some involuntary reflex caused him to glance at Pansy.

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry I ever dragged you into this," said Pansy, very apologetic and wailing a little.

"You didn't drag me, or anyone," Harry said. "Romilda needed a friend when she got here and you stepped up. If anyone dragged someone it was me dragging Daphne. She didn't have anything to do with any of our shenanigans."

"Harry Potter you stop that this instant!" said Daphne. "You have no idea what you're talking about. I haven't gone anywhere I haven't wanted to go."

"Oh, okay, then," said Harry. "Sounds like we're all absolved. Romilda would like to name the young wizard for Angus, I take it."

Morag nodded, still dissecting her friends' last exchange.

"If his surname is McDougal and they stay up north, Romilda thinks there is a good chance they'll just fade into the countryside," said Morag. "Of course, if the Bergs forget about her and go on to other things, so much the better."

"If…" said Harry. "I don't know why, but their last try was so intense, with backups and everything, it wouldn't surprise me if they showed up again."

Pansy looked at Harry. No one knew it all except Harry, but Pansy knew more than the other two. She knew about the cave, Marcella, and the two minions. She knew Harry had kept Romilda and the minions in his dungeon, right inside Potter Manor, just over there, before putting portkeys on the minions. Portkeys, by the way, that Pansy Parkinson had purchased.

"What will you do? If they show up?" Pansy asked.

"Try to manage the game without resorting to the red card," answered Harry.

Harry doubted, should the Bergs show up, that he would be able to avoid violence. The Bergs just didn't seem to be constructed any other way, none of the ones that he had met. His associate shuddered at Harry's equanimity and use of a light-hearted euphemism. Pansy had witnessed Harry Potter dealing with confrontations before. She knew what he could do, and how fast he could do it. She didn't think the Bergs stood a chance.

Pansy and Morag passed a very pleasant hour chatting up Harry and Daphne before leaving the Just-Marrieds alone and going back to London. Neither one had a plan for the rest of the day, or any commitments, so they each went home, freshened up, and took a nap. They had agreed to go out for something at dinner time, deciding they'd meet at the Dragon at six-thirty.

"Nice," Pansy said to the hostess as they were seated in one of the cozy banquettes for two.

"We can see, but not necessarily be seen," Pansy confided to Morag, who thought Pansy's comment quite funny.

"Oh, I enjoy these," said Morag.

"Dinners?" asked Pansy.

"Yes, and the other outings," Morag said. "Things. We do. Have done."

Morag was running out of neutral words to describe their mutual activities.

"Um," said Pansy. "Sounds like we're dating."

Morag sat up straight and looked Pansy in the eye.

"It could appear that way," she said, adding: "If we both wanted it to."

Pansy looked back, her mind racing. Morag knew all about Pansy's past. Pansy had crammed so many bad experiences with wizards into such a short period that she seriously questioned whether she'd feel inclined to try again. Morag had studied to the exclusion of a social life then found herself in a demanding profession, then followed that with nearly three years of isolation, taking care of Livia.

"I have no practice at any of this," said Morag.

The waiter came for their order and Morag took charge.

"Two spring rolls each and a pot of tea."

"Just enough to take the edge off," Morag explained.

"I don't eat a lot," Pansy assured her.

"Bear with me," Morag said. She leaned over the table and kept her voice very, very low. "I mean, I have no practice, at intimacy, with either men or women."

Pansy leaned from her side, so she could whisper: "You're a virgin?"

Morag nodded.

The spring rolls and tea arrived. Pansy sat back and looked up and to the right, to the carved frieze at the top of the paneling.

"My mother would hold you up to me as an example," she said when the waiter had gone.

"What?" asked Morag. "Why?"

"You saved yourself for what would come later," Pansy explained.

Pansy and Morag noted the private character of their mutual revelations. The talk moved on to other topics. Morag didn't know a lot about urban real estate as she came from a very sparsely-populated part of Scotland and loved asking Pansy question after question. Pansy liked answering Morag's questions. She had learned a lot working with Harry. They hadn't ordered very much food and it wasn't long before they finished their dinner of spring rolls and tea. The Dragon had a convenient apparition point in a little courtyard. On the way Morag gave Pansy a thought about a follow-on activity.

"When I was studying, I went to a club with another healer," she said. "It took me ninety minutes to realize nine-tenths of the people in the club were witches. It was fun, though, just dancing to the music and putting all that studying out of my mind. I think I'd like to take you there, if you'd like to go?"

"Morag," Pansy said, taking her friend's hand. "Of course. Know the way?"

"Let's find out," said Morag.

The club was having a disco night so there wasn't a band that needed breaks and the music went on and on. Morag paid for the two-drink minimum for both of them. Pansy loved to dance and stayed on the floor. Morag didn't have the kind of energy Pansy did but she was up for whatever Pansy wanted to do, so she stayed out on the floor too. The first time the music slowed down they got off the dance floor and staked out seats at a painfully-small table.

"I don't drink," Pansy said when Morag handed over two drink tickets.

"Pansy, I know that," Morag said. "Ginger ale, club soda—the bar doesn't care."

"Oh, right," Pansy said.

The witches drank up and watched how the witches slow danced in every conceivable style.

Some couples used the conventional joined-hands-arm-on-shoulder-or-waist configuration, some hugged and one pair had their foreheads together and arms laid over their partner's shoulders. They looked unblinking into one another's eyes and appeared to be mouthing, "Love you, love you," over and over. Pansy moved her chair to get a better view of the dance floor, putting her beside Morag. The painfully-small table actually facilitated hand-holding, as a space-saver. One hour later the witches had had their two drinks, danced some more when the tempo picked up and finally slow danced with another witch for the first time in their lives. They went to Pansy's by apparition, simply to have a destination. Standing just inside Pansy's door, Morag said she wouldn't be staying.

"Tomorrow?" asked Pansy.

"Glasgow," said Morag. "Yourself?"

"Tea room," said Pansy. "Inventory day. Very busy. All day."

"I'm back, day after tomorrow," said Morag.

"What time?" asked Pansy.

"Between four and five in the afternoon," said Morag.

"Hmm…Come straight here. What would you like for dinner?"

"Pasta?" asked Morag.

"You got it, dear," Pansy said, not really thinking.

"Here," said Morag. She slipped her arms around Pansy's waist, leaned down and kissed her girlfriend, very briefly, on her lips.

"Mmm," said Pansy, shifting her head, laying it on its side on Morag's shoulder. They stood there in a loose mutual clinch. Pansy didn't want to be the one, but someone had to. "Go. Save it. I'll be here."

Morag was off to Glasgow for two days so Pansy was free to throw herself, physically and mentally, into conducting a perfect inventory of the tea shop and adjacent magical variety boutique. Whenever she slowed down, Pansy found herself missing Morag so she worked furiously, counting, recording and double-checking to ensure accuracy.

Pansy had been enjoying her hours in the tea shop more and more. She had stumbled upon a small book on the significance of the tea ceremony and how it had grown into the focus of much of Japanese life in the nineteenth century, reaching its epitome as an art form in Kyoto. She had even taken an hour one day to visit Julius in his tea room and ask if he had ever gone to Kyoto during his sojourn in Japan.

"Day trips only," Julius said. "The trains make it so easy. I do have a half-baked plan to return whenever I have the time, and settle in Kyoto for two or three weeks of Japanese language and tea ceremony instruction."

"Do you think I could do that?" asked Pansy. "I read about the tea ceremony and I want to learn more."

"Of course," said Julius. "So you know, like everything else, there are practitioners here in London. I can get you their contact information."

Julius looked around before speaking.

"I don't know of any magical practitioners, unfortunately."

"I know how to blend," Pansy assured him.

Harry was eager to hear about Pansy's explorations when she reported to Potter and Associates. He had come across the tea ceremony somehow and had read a short article on the significance of the making and serving of the tea. Reading long treatises for content required focus and he still had residual issues in that area. Listening to Pansy, Harry decided to get more information on Kyoto and the tea ceremony and see if reading-in didn't prove therapeutic.

"Morag's in Glasgow?" Harry asked.

"Yes, back tomorrow," said Pansy.

"Has she ever said anything about that basement space?" Harry asked. "You and I are coming up blank."

"She mentioned something we talked about and then dropped," said Pansy. "Maybe we should see if we can recruit an herbalist. There could be some synergy with the tea and the annex."

The specialty bookshop and esoteric magical odds-and-ends emporium wasn't given to a succinct and descriptive name so Harry and Pansy had begun to use the shorthand of 'the annex.' Harry rocked back in his chair, dragging out the squeak, pinching his lower lip between his thumb and first finger.

"How does one go about recruiting an herbalist?" asked Harry. "Where do the herbalists hang out? Do you know if they have a guild?"

"Cold call an established shop and offer a space in an underserved neighborhood? Look for someone just starting out. Put the word out with the healers," Pansy suggested.

Harry was about to respond when someone, somewhere, interrupted their conversation.

"You should close your floo when you're discussing strategy, Harry Potter," came a voice from the fireplace. "You could give away your most valuable trade secrets."

"Daphne," Pansy and Harry said together. Neither asked. It was a statement.

"Are you coming through?" Harry asked the grate.

"Yes, just stay behind the desk, both of you," said the disembodied Daphne voice.

Harry and Pansy looked into the fireplace, anticipating Daphne's arrival but she didn't arrive. Not via the fireplace. Instead, a subdued 'pop' sounded and Daphne did a little high-step through a portal into the center of Harry's office.

"What in the world, Greengrass?" asked an astonished Pansy. She gave the impression she desperately wanted to draw her wand and assume the first defensive position.

Harry and Daphne must have both given her a look.

"Oh, forgot," Pansy said. "What in the world, Potter?"

"I know, it surprised me, too," said Daphne. "Can I speak freely? I mean in confidence? I'll tell Morag, if you think I just have to, Pansy, but we really must keep the circle of the knowing small. As small as possible. At least for now."

"I won't say anything without your permission," said Pansy.

Daphne looked at Harry. It was a formality, of course, as their magical vows forbade him doing anything willful to hurt his wife. Harry nodded anyway, since Daphne so graciously gave him a choice. Daphne looked at the fireplace and made a little throat-cutting motion with her hand, then waited while Harry cut off the floo with some wiggling of his fingertips.

"I was still sitting outside this morning, enjoying a last cup of coffee and I looked at my ring," Daphne said, holding up her right hand. "The sun must have been hitting the stone just right because I saw a little figure just above my finger. It is some kind of effect of the facets, like a prism, but the little person is a likeness of Iolanthe Peverell. She's enchanted, like the portraits. She has the power of speech, but she is very old and tires quickly. I told her I'd leave her alone and let her get back to sleep because I had to come inside and floo-call you anyway. She asked why I didn't just use the portal. I've only gone two places: a trial run to the salon at #12 Grimmauld Place and back home, then here. Even so it worked perfectly. I don't know how it works or what the limitations are."

Harry and Pansy took a moment to stare at Daphne, then looked at one another.

"Daphne, I have never, ever heard of something like that," said Pansy. "Harry?"

"Huh-uh," Harry said. "You might want to talk to a little wider circle before stepping into strange portals, though. A person could end up putting themselves in a dungeon or on the backside of the moon."

"So handy, though," said Pansy. "How do you get the portal to take you where you want to go?"

"I'm not sure," Daphne said. "It could be visualization. I've been to #12 and here. Whether it can be done without knowing the destination and being able to draw on a memory, I can't say right now. There is also distance. Hippity-hopping around England is one thing, crossing the Atlantic would be a bit more challenging."

"Did Iolanthe say anything more?" Harry asked.

"There was kind of a wild exchange of information," said Daphne. "Who was I? I told her I'd married Harry Potter. She wanted to know who you were. I told her Lord Potter. That seemed like the fastest way to get to the point. She was very pleased. I think she might have feared her ring had gotten away from the family. She was very friendly after she accepted I was your lordship's."

"Uggh!" Harry exclaimed. "That old-time nomenclature. So you didn't pick her up in a thrift store. I wonder if she wants to do anything special? Besides riding around on your finger, which is special enough, of course."

"I asked her about a portrait, if she knew of any, that is," said Daphne. "She doesn't think there are any that are active. She isn't very good with time but she said it has been ages since anyone spoke to her."

"Well, we can keep that in mind," Harry said. "There are old portraits all over the place. There are some in the Potter vault across the way there at Gringotts. What does she look like?"

"Little," said Daphne.

Pansy let loose a guffaw.

"THAT was funny!" she said.

"Okay, I have to give you that," said Harry. "Anything stick in your mind about your little magical holographic person? Round, thin, in-between? Hair color?"

"Her hair looked black. She had it pulled back and up on top of her head," said Daphne.

"How was she dressed?"

"A long, old-fashioned dress, down to her ankles," said Daphne. "I'm not good with historical clothes. I can't tell the difference between Victorian and Edwardian."

"That's okay," said Harry. "I don't know anyone who can. Not that I'm aware of."

He looked at Pansy.

"Me neither," said Pansy. "I've heard toga parties are fun, though."

"I'd like to go to Gringotts and see what's in the vault," Harry said. "I'll need Daphne, though. Can you go?"

"Sure," said Daphne. "I work this evening but I'm free until three."

"Go? Stay?" Harry asked Pansy.

"I need to shop," said Pansy. "See you tomorrow?"

Harry locked up and Pansy left to run her errands.

"Do you think you're going to find a portrait? How old would it be?" Daphne asked.

"The records I've seen are a little vague, but that could be an impression based on poor attention to detail," Harry answered. "She was Ignotus Peverell's daughter, I believe, so that puts her back somewhere around eight hundred or nine hundred years."

Daphne shook her head.

"What?" asked Harry.

"I can't think of a way to make a portrait last that long," said Daphne. "Iolanthe would have been around just a century or two after the Conquest. William's contemporary images are on coins, as far as I know."

"Did you speak English with her?" Harry asked.

Daphne looked like she was stumped.

"We did speak English, but hers should have been almost incomprehensible to me, shouldn't it?"

"One would think so," said Harry.

They'd climbed the steps and entered Gringotts' great central hall. Goblins gave them little nods on the way to the teller cages along with muttered greetings of, "Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter, Lord Harry, Lady Daphne." Harry walked up to a teller and waited for him to finish working in a huge ledger.

"Sir," Harry said when he had the goblin's attention. "Mrs. Potter and I would like to visit the Potter vault."

The teller's head popped up and he looked between the two standing there across his counter.

"Of course, of course," he said. "Lord and Lady Potter, so happy to see you."

The goblin called a messenger over and spoke to him in the goblin language. The messenger hurried away and soon disappeared through a carved wooden door.

"I beg your indulgence but we have instructions, you see," said the teller. "We can get to your business just as soon as you meet with one of the officers. Just this way."

The goblin gestured toward the end of the row of teller's stations. Harry looked at Daphne, who shrugged.

"One quick stop at the vault…" Daphne muttered as they walked past the long granite counter with its embarrassment of polished brass, down to the opening at the end. Their teller met them there and conducted them onward through the great wooden door, where he turned them over to the messenger. The party continued on to the end of the hall, and a door with a plate written in goblin.

"Come in," came a voice from inside. The door opened, seemingly by itself. 'Goblin work,' Harry thought.

"Lord and Lady Potter," said Ragnak. His goblin smile appeared genuine, and warm.

Within a few minutes Harry and Daphne had received the official congratulations of the goblins on their nuptials, been advised they needed to schedule an appointment with their account manager soon, and to expect the meeting to take about three hours. Furthermore, Daphne was personally (and tastefully) commended by the director for her skillful handling of the Greengrass family's financial affairs.

Daphne thanked the director, who left unstated the details of why she was to be commended.

"Director," said Daphne, "It has been a pleasure, and the task of a dutiful daughter. My husband, of course, has been my inspiration all along and he never fails to tell me of his gratitude to yourself and Gringotts for your help and understanding."

Harry thought the director would topple over if Daphne piled it on any higher, but he needn't have worried. Bankers don't earn a lot of praise, and the wizards' bankers were goblins, so Ragnak was enjoying a rare experience: praise from the beautiful, noble Daphne Greengrass Potter.

"So gracious of you, Lady Daphne," said the director with a bow. "Now…"

At that moment the door opened and the messenger entered, carrying a silver tray upon which stood three stemmed glasses filled with a colorless liquid.

"A toast?" asked Ragnak. "A little of the goblins' best brandy."

"Forewarned," said Harry as he waited for Daphne to pick up her glass.

Ragnak's guttural chuckle affirmed Harry's observation.

"To your new lives together," Ragnak said as he raised his glass.

Harry and Daphne each took a sip, leaving a little to seal their reciprocal good wishes.

"To a long and fruitful partnership of the Potters, Blacks, Gringotts and the goblin nation," Harry said as he raised his own glass.

"Hear, hear," said Ragnak, this time extending his arm to clink his glass with Harry's, then Daphne's.

Official goblin hospitality satisfied, Ragnak took his leave and the Potters were conducted down beneath Gringotts to their vault. Harry placed his hand on the door, this time alongside Daphne's. By doing so he gave Daphne access to the family treasures. Daphne knew there were sound reasons for him to do so. They were joined by blood and magic, so there was little chance she could rob him blind and flee the country. At the same time, Daphne was now Harry's sole heir. Allowing Daphne to access the vault meant Harry trusted her with his life. Even though she knew he was making provision for her future, should worse come to worst, Daphne was deeply touched.

"You didn't have to do that today," Daphne said, when they'd gotten inside and out of their escort's hearing.

"I know," Harry said.

"Lots of people wait for a bit," said Daphne. "I've heard of witches who never got in their husband's family vault."

"I know," said Harry once again. "I know why, too. On the other hand, I don't have anyone besides you, so if you want to take me out and be the Merry Widow Potter, you could do that whether I let you in or not. Couldn't you?"

"True," said Daphne, "Still, you're due a little gesture of appreciation."

Harry paused, thinking Daphne meant he was about to receive a kiss.

"Later," Daphne assured him.

"Okay, portraits," Harry said.

"We can look, it won't hurt anything," said Daphne. "I doubt, though, that a portrait would survive."

"Oh?"

"Sure," said Daphne. "Think of the history it would have lived through. Henry the Second and Eleanor, Richard, John, the Yorks and Lancasters, the Tudors, religious wars and the lootings and burnings, Cromwell, the Restoration…"

"Oh, got it," Harry said. "Not to mention the recent unpleasantness."

"Yes, Harry, the recent unpleasantness," Daphne conceded.

"Recommendations, then?" asked Harry.

"Think of something that lasts," said Daphne. "A cameo."

"Ahhh…" Harry said, getting the idea. "Sculpture. A mosaic. An engraver's plate. A wood block."

"Brilliant," said Daphne. "I hadn't gone past the cameo. Want to look?"

Harry moved a few feet and stood in front of the peculiar steel door once more.

"As good a place as any to start," he said and led Daphne inside.

There was no annotation on the chart for the smaller boxes that said "Cameos." Harry spotted 'Brooches' though, keyed to box XI and had it open in no time.

"Darn," Harry said when they'd sorted through the brooches, some of which were spectacular, without finding anything that could have been a likeness of Iolanthe.

"That would have been much too easy, though, wouldn't it?" said Daphne. "Some temporary elation, perhaps, but nothing legendary. Nothing for the Potter grimoire."

"Grimoires," said Harry. "Sometimes I wish I'd never heard of a grimoire. What if the wizarding community hadn't developed the ability to enchant portraits at the time Iolanthe and her husband lived? Does anyone know when the technique was discovered?"

"Good question, Harry," said a thoughtful Daphne. "That might be something to ask of our Unspeakable friend. I wouldn't know where to begin to look."

"Probably in a grimoire," muttered Harry.

"I heard that," said Daphne. "It probably is recorded in a grimoire, as a matter of fact, at least one, the problem is they aren't indexed and families guard the information carefully because it could be useful to an enemy."

"This sounds pretty innocuous," Harry said. "Everyone has enchanted portraits."

"Everyone has enchanted portraits now," said Daphne. "What about when wizards first discovered how to do it? That must have made someone feel very powerful. Let's say you had an enemy and you made him the gift of a portrait as a peace gesture. What if the portrait were enchanted and able to travel between your house and the enemy's?"

"And the enemy didn't know about enchanted portraits because the giver was the only one who knew there actually was such a thing?" Harry followed on. "That is a truly devious thought. Oh, Lady Daphne! I'm so glad we found one another and fell in love! I would certainly find it most inconvenient to have you for an enemy."

They looked around inside the interior vault but nothing jumped out as a strong probability so Harry closed the door and they began looking through the paintings arranged on a rack in the main room. The portraits were interesting but only two, at most, met the age criteria. Daphne did not recognize either of the subjects as looking at all like the Iolanthe who lived in her ring.

Harry and Daphne both started to think they were on a fool's errand.

"When did she marry your ancestor?" Daphne asked.

"Twelve-hundreds or thirteen-hundreds, something like that," said Harry.

"I don't know, Harry," Daphne began.

As Daphne spoke Harry turned for the door, stopping when he noticed something on one of the shelves, nearly hidden behind some undistinguished silver pieces. He moved a candlestick and pushed a tankard to the side, then picked up a small bust of a woman. Harry couldn't tell what the material was in the dim light. The bust appeared to have been white at one time but the original hue wasn't really discernible under the centuries-worth of dust and soot.

Harry decided to rescue the woman and picked her up. He thought of putting her in the patch pocket of his jacket but decided to carry her instead. She looked like she was hundreds of years old, so she ought to be handled accordingly.

"That was fun," Daphne said. She took Harry's hand as they walked down Gringotts' stone steps.

"It was," Harry agreed. "We didn't accomplish what we started out to do, but it was an interesting—what?—hour, ninety minutes. Did you see anything you wanted to go back and pull out for closer inspection?"

"Of course, all of it!" Daphne laughed. "Would we, or anyone else have a use for it? That's another question entirely, isn't it? I saw you pick out something. What caught your eye?"

Harry held up the little female figure.

"Down there in the vault, in the lamplight, I thought I'd get her out and clean her up," Harry said. "Out here in the sunshine she seems to have a bit of patina. It would be a shame to scrub all those lessons learned from her beautiful exterior."

"Hmm…not poetry, yet, but I do hear the rhythm trying to break out," Daphne said.

Harry held her hand as they strolled across Diagon Alley.

"That was a compliment," Daphne advised him.

"Oh, thank-you, of course it was," Harry agreed.

They arrived back at the entrance to the lane and the offices of Harry Potter and Associates. Harry opened the door.

"Time for tea?"

"No, it's time to go home, get ready and get to work," Daphne said. "No self-indulgence tonight. Kreacher will be instructed, of course."

Harry held Daphne's hand and pulled her with him, into the foyer of his office. His free hand held the statuette and wasn't really free but he wrapped it around Daphne's waist and stepped close, putting his forehead on hers.

"Whatever you want, you get, Lady Potter, if it is in my power to get it for you," Harry said, just before his lips touched hers.

"Mmm-MMM," said Daphne as the short, sweet good-bye kiss evolved and grew into its adult form of a proper, take-your-time snog.

"I love you," Harry whispered into Daphne's ear.

"I love you," said Daphne, "And I owe you a treat, don't I? The Manor, tonight? Midnight?"

"Of course," said Harry. He raised Daphne's right hand to his lips.

Daphne stepped back outside into the lane, looked both ways and disapparated.

Once he found himself alone in his office, Harry looked in vain for the next piece of business to which he could attend. His bills were all paid, he had no real estate transactions in the works and he couldn't think of anything he wanted to get done, to which he could devote the next three or four hours. His idle mind wondered what would be involved in acquiring some sheep for his green. Harry's eyes landed on the bust, which he had put down in the middle of his desk blotter. The material from which the woman was carved appeared to be stone.

Harry picked up the bust and turned it around in his fingers, looking at it from all angles.

"What are you?" he asked. He was alone in the office so Harry wasn't the least bit embarrassed to be speaking to the little statuette.

"Alabaster," said a voice. The head swiveled to look at Harry.

Harry put the bust down on the blotter, facing himself.

"Beg pardon," Harry said. "You're enchanted. I'm very sorry but I wasn't aware. I apologize for any slight I may have made."

"I took no offense," said the statuette. "Where am I?"

"Oh, sorry, once again," said Harry. "This is my office. I'm Harry Potter. You were in the Potter vault beneath Gringotts bank, on Diagon Alley in London."

"Ohh…that is interesting," said the alabaster figure. "How long have I been in there?"

"That isn't…well, I don't know how to tell, really, because I don't know when you were put in, who decided to put you away, or where to find a record with the information," Harry said. "Are you someone's likeness? Were you carved from life or did the artist take the liberty?"

The little bust laughed out loud.

"My husband traveled to Europe, looking for trading opportunities. He found an artist in a market somewhere and brought him back. The fellow showed a few pieces in our village market and soon had a year's worth of work lined up. He did so well he had me sit. I'm carved after the sketches he did before he left Godric's Hollow."

"Excuse me, Godric's Hollow? You aren't a Potter, by chance? You were in the Potter Vault. That's where I found you."

"Yes," said the bust. "This bust is a likeness of me. My name was Iolanthe Peverell. My husband was Hardwin Potter. I was passed down for several generations then someone dropped me in a bag of some kind and everything went black. After that all I saw was some lamps lighting up and things being moved around in a kind of warehouse or storeroom. Now and then some voices. Who are you?"

"Harry Potter," said Harry. "My parents were James and Lily. James' father was Fleamont. This is my office."

"Oh," said the bust. "I don't think I got as far as those Potters before I was put away. Who is king now?"

"We have a queen, ah…what do I call you? Grandmother? Great-grandmother?"

"Are you sure you're my descendant?" asked the bust.

"I'm the Heir of Ignotus Peverell. According to the goblins and their blood tests it is by descent. There may be others but none have disputed my claim, so as far as I know, I am it. I can't speak for your uncles' descendants. Too much time has passed. People emigrated in huge numbers. Who knows?"

"Oh, young Harry, what year is this?" asked the bust.

"Twenty-nineteen," said Harry. The bust stared at him.

"Two thousand nineteen," Harry tried. The lady shook her head.

"The last king I heard discussed was Richard III," said the bust.

"Oh, my, that explains a lot," said Harry. "I'm not the one to talk to, not much of a historian, you see, but the short version is you're four or five royal families behind. After Richard there were Tudors, then Stuarts, a Revolution and a Restoration then King George III lost the American colonies, then, at some point, Queen Victoria and Edward VII, who had wonderful taste in clothes, then some more Georges and now we have Queen Elizabeth II. That isn't the whole story, not at all, but it will give you some idea as to why the date sounds so strange to you."

"I wonder what year I was put away?" mused the statuette. "Not that it matters that much. It's been centuries, certainly."

"I know someone who can help," said Harry. "An old professor of mine from Hogwarts."

"You studied?" asked the bust as she brightened up. "Is Hogwarts one of the colleges at Oxford? Cambridge? Paris? To think I have an educated man in my family! Are you a priest?"

"No, Grandmother," Harry said, "It is independent. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For magical children. It is where I did my first formal study of magic."

"There is a school for witches? Out in the open? Why have you not all been sent to the stake?"

"A lot has changed since your time," Harry said. "The magical world, witches, wizards, goblins, elves, and all the magical creatures stay out of sight. We don't mix very much with the non-magical world. It's easier for everyone that way."

"I have a lot to learn," sighed Iolanthe's bust. "Unless you're going to put me away again. If you are, please say so and save me the trouble."

"I think we can find a place for you, Madam," said Harry. "I don't have a lot more to do today so why don't we get you home so you can watch the comings and goings? In a few weeks you'll be surprised at how much you've learned."

Harry got a hand towel from the shelf in his bathroom and laid it flat on his desk.

"Okay, I have to do this to protect you while we travel," Harry said. "Just a wrap. In the pocket…"

Harry dropped Iolanthe into the big pocket of his robe. Moments later they stood on the green before Potter Manor and Harry got the carving out.

"Daylight!" he warned before he unwrapped her completely. "What do you think?"

Harry held up the statuette and turned around in a full circle.

"This is yours?" asked Iolanthe.

"Just myself and my wife at present," said Harry. "We have one elf. He is actually part of the house in London but we go back and forth. If we don't give him work no one else will and he gets a little testy."

"Who lives in the house in Godric's Hollow?" Iolanthe asked.

Harry felt the gloom descend as an actual physical sensation. No matter how many times it happened he never got used to it.

"I have to tell you sometime so I might as well do it now," said Harry as they walked in through the big front door.

"We had a Dark wizard a few years back, and he and his gang attacked anyone who wasn't part of their crowd. It didn't matter if they were a threat or not. My parents were in a group that fought back. They, James and Lily, learned he was going to make an attempt to kill me, because of a prophecy that could have meant I could bring him down. I was only a year old. He got to my parents and killed them as they tried to protect me. My mum used some very old magic and willingly died to put her protection over me. He missed that little detail and cast a killing curse."

"He didn't! He cast the curse at a baby?"

"Toddler," said Harry. "I was fifteen months, to be exact. Because of what my mum, Lily, did, the curse rebounded and would have killed him, had he not made horcruxes. Anyway, the whole brouhaha destroyed much of the house. It's there in Godric's Hollow today, left just the way it was as a memorial to my parents. They're kind of revered among the magicals, for their magic and fighting spirit."

"There's more, isn't there?" asked the bust.

"Yes," said Harry.

"And?"

"Another time, when I'm feeling better," Harry said.

Within the hour Iolanthe's bust had toured the salon, met the portraits, forgotten nearly all of the names, and taken up residence in the glass-fronted cabinet in the dining room.

"I'm not putting you away again," Harry said, "Just putting you in a safe place. Whenever you're awake you can watch the comings and goings. You'll get caught up with current events by osmosis. It won't even feel like work. We'll move you around, too. There is something different in every room."

Iolanthe remained silent and Harry suspected she had dropped off long before the end of his speech.

Daphne wasn't lying when she told Harry she would be using Kreacher's good offices to help him avoid self-indulgence. Harry's dinner was a salad, although a very good one, two slices from a baguette, a fruit and cheese plate and coffee. Harry smiled throughout dinner, feeling Daphne's presence in the meal.

Harry liked to read in an overstuffed chair that sat between a window and the fireplace in the salon. He did fine when he read Shakespeare aloud, but if he read silently, he usually fell asleep somewhere in Act II. The wards worked very well in such cases, sounding loudly and keeping him from getting surprised.


	39. Chapter 39

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Thirty-nine

What's Past Makes What's Present

Daphne completed her evening shift at St. Mungo's at eleven p.m. Evenings were not her favorite shift. She got off work too late to go out for something to eat with friends or family. She had to go straight home and fall directly into bed if she were to get up and start her day at a reasonable time in the morning. Therefore, Daphne's end-of-shift routine seldom varied. She went to the staff changing room, retrieved her cloak from her locker, walked to the nearest exterior door and went home by apparition. She'd done that while living at Greengrass Manor and had only changed her final destination when she became the full-time Mistress of Potter Manor.

As she left the emergency section Daphne considered Iolanthe and the portal she'd been shown.

"I'll have to learn more about that," Daphne thought. "What a handy thing to have. I'll see if Iolanthe wants to talk tomorrow and tell me more about it. Directing it, distance limitations…"

Daphne twisted and disappeared, reappearing almost immediately in the back garden at Potter Manor. Daphne was recognized by the enchantments throughout the estate. She could come and go without hindrance by the wards. Lamps lit up as she walked the path toward the house, extinguishing themselves once she'd passed each one. Harry had the exterior doors open and close for her so she didn't need to go around casting charms whenever she wanted to go in or out.

Daphne was a newlywed and a very happy one.

She had watched Harry while they were at Hogwarts, beginning the evening of their sorting ceremony. Harry had been the cause of a surplus of consternation in Slytherin House. He gave the impression that he barely thought of Slytherin House, at least when Daphne had him under observation. Nevertheless, Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson seemed to obsess over the daily offenses they detected emanating from Harry Potter.

"Greengrass?" asked Draco one evening in the common room.

"Malfoy?" Daphne answered, not looking up. She was stretched out on a very comfortable green leather couch with a textbook propped against her bent knees.

"I SAID, Potter makes me want to puke," said Draco.

"Does he?" asked Daphne, finally looking at him. "That's too bad Draco because it appears he is barely cognizant of our existence. Yours, mine, Pansy's, Slytherin House. To think you'll be going to all that trouble and your audience of one will be oblivious…tsk, tsk."

"You'd be a lot happier if you'd try to develop a little Slytherin Spirit, Greengrass," advised Pansy.

"She's too thick, Pansy," said Draco. He drew his wand.

Daphne saw what was coming as if she watched from five seconds in the future. She tilted her book down from its reading position so the wand she'd slipped up the spine was pointed straight at Draco. Cordelia Greengrass was a realistic mother. She had spent the summer drilling Daphne on some useful spells, hexes and jinxes. She'd taught her eleven-year-old it was never wrong to defend herself against violent or predatory wizards. Draco started to cast something, undoubtedly something unpleasant, to register his disapproval of Daphne's attitude but was cut off when Daphne whispered, "_Repulso_."

Draco's toadies picked him up from the floor after he'd hit the far wall and bounced off. There weren't any repercussions other than Tracey Davis observing that, "Crabbe and Goyle I get, but are Draco and Pansy actually incapable of learning?"

"It is a puzzle," said Daphne, turning back to her book.

Harry thought Daphne was nice all through first year. He might have spoken once or twice, but the adult Harry couldn't remember anything specific.

Daphne began to show signs of a budding beauty during second year. Third year and fourth year were mixed. Her adult face emerged, her skin was mostly clear, her teeth straight and white. Tracey and Daphne spent hours experimenting with one another's hair, finally settling on a few easy-to-manage styles that they liked on themselves and each other. They started paying attention to their nails, keeping their routines manageable when school was in session. They used soap and water, a nail brush, orange stick and two-sided nail files. They didn't spend time on polish, instead practicing until they could buff their natural nails to a high gloss while studying.

Sadly, each was growing quickly and they spent much effort on shedding their adolescent clumsiness. Daphne's reticence became more pronounced. After serving an apprenticeship as the Ice Princess, in fourth year she became the Ice Queen.

Harry knew Ron harbored romantic feelings for Hermione, however bad he was at recognizing and acting on them. Thus, Harry didn't initiate any exploratory conversations, nor did Hermione. In fact, Harry built a wall around any sprouting feelings he might have had for Hermione. He convinced himself he harbored a pure, chaste love for Hermione, something that transcended physical desire. Harry was offered opportunities for non-Hermione exploratory conversations every day. Some of the young witches who were interested in him, such as Romilda Vane, were not inclined to invest the necessary time to have a conversation but went straight to subterfuge.

By fifth year, Harry was smitten. That was the first year he remembered feeling poleaxed whenever Daphne gave him the look from under her long eyelashes. Merlin, those did a number on Harry. They were brown, only a shade or two darker than her hair, a match for her eyebrows. The two of them seemed to get paired for something in a joint class at least once a week. At some point during the joint lesson Daphne would look up from underneath those eyelashes and do something with her face. She might extend her lower lip in a fake pout, briefly pull up one corner of her mouth in a subtle, this-is-just-between-us grin, raise one or both eyebrows. She seldom had words to go along with her mime. Neither initiated an exploratory conversation.

Harry did not have time to ponder why he and Daphne Greengrass kept getting paired up so often. If he had he might have thought about some vague, impersonal force that insisted on putting him in the path of that look from under Daphne's eyelashes. Something like destiny.

Sixth year, of course, was a mess. Harry stayed sane by flying. Dumbledore loosened up with the information but still refused to come completely clean. The academic year ended with Dumbledore's death.

Daphne thought she was going to go insane during her seventh year. Some of the new faculty were psychopaths. Daphne gutted it out by focusing on keeping Tracey and Astoria as close as possible and vowing to get between them and any kind of danger. The ice thickened as the pressure from her suppressed anger grew.

She tried to stay away from news, from any source. She knew there had to be a clandestine wizard wireless set somewhere, from the bits of gossip that raced through the school. Despite her efforts not to, Daphne listened intently whenever anything or anyone mentioned Undesirable Number One. She knew Harry was widely believed to be doomed. She still allowed herself a silent, internal cheer when the subjective news bits were parsed and the nugget within said Harry and his chums had done something wild and elemental and evaded capture yet again.

Harry despaired throughout the long, rough winter. At times he doubted his ability to bring his two closest confederates through their difficulties. When that thought was dispatched he wondered if he would ever be allowed to live a normal life, grow into a relationship with a witch or start a family. He knew everyone expected, should they both survive, that he and Ginny Weasley would gravitate toward one another. Harry fought to keep himself from remembering Daphne Greengrass. Everything about her appealed to Harry. His internal doubts argued that if he liked and respected her, he wouldn't think about her. What if Voldemort was eavesdropping? What if the simple matter of calling up his mental image of Daphne cast a subconscious jinx?

Their postwar attempt at getting to know one another went nowhere. Later on, Harry blamed himself, telling Daphne, when he got the chance, he was entirely at fault. Daphne wouldn't hear of it, insisting she had her own issues at the time. She worked those out by inappropriate and self-defeating means. She botched the opportunity to give Harry a loving safe haven in which to repair himself after his ordeal.

That was then. This was now.

When Harry and Daphne made up following their joint intervention in Cyrus Greengrass' financial follies, they really made up. Harry confessed his longtime fascination. Daphne did more than thaw out. She warmed up, let Harry babble while she held him, listened while he tried to talk through sobs about his pre-school years with the Dursleys. Harry told Daphne things he had never told anyone, about his struggles to control his magic. Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn't just defense. Bits and pieces of necessary information gave Harry all he needed to wipe the Dursley family from history, if he lost his internal struggle. He feared he'd become a poltergeist, visiting malicious magic on innocents for its own sake. He still harbored such fears. Daphne had a right to know.

Daphne could see, in retrospect, the possibility of something similar in herself. She was a good fit for Slytherin House. Smart, ambitious and driven to succeed. She wasn't inclined to pursue alliances with Dark wizards or their supporters. Thus, she was nearly destroyed by the internal Slytherin conflicts of her Hogwarts years. She was an English witch, with a manor, lanes, green hills and hedgerows. She could make beautiful things with her hands as well as her magic. She loved magical creatures such as hippogriffs and noted her Dark-worshipping classmates seemed to be all but violently allergic to beauty. They attacked beauty with a casual vandalism she could not fathom.

Daphne went through Hogwarts with two close friends and one mentor. Her sister Astoria and cousin Tracey Davis were her close friends and Madam Pomfrey her mentor. Blaise Zabini wasn't pushy but he was close by more than once when Daphne felt the need to stand up against some aggression.

Blaise wasn't complicated, seldom saying more than a low-volume, "Got your back."

Daphne wasn't conscious of the ice at first. It wasn't something she wanted. It grew itself to protect the beautiful creature at its core. Harry Potter liberated Magical Britain from Voldemort. Then he extended his hand and liberated Daphne Greengrass from her icy state.

Daphne wasn't a mystic. As a healer she was much more of a realist than most witches. Even so, after their wedding night and the runes and their joint vision, Daphne was convinced that she and Harry belonged together, that they had been together before, and they had a destiny.

She hadn't shared those thoughts. Her husband held titles that he mostly ignored because he had been raised as a penniless, despised relation. He was mostly formed before he heard of the titles. He had faced death, too many times, so he built a little mundane business from scratch and tried to stay away from the crash and bang. He thought of himself as a practical man, who could do a practical day's work, besides being a wizard.

When Daphne came inside after her commute from work, she tried to make a little noise so that Harry, should he have fallen asleep in his reading chair, would wake up without her having to enter the room and wake him. Healer Daphne had read the journals and knew about traumatic stress. The healers were studying it just as the muggle physicians and therapists were. Few wizards had experienced more traumatic stress than Harry Potter. Daphne viewed Harry's moments of post-traumatic terror as things she lovingly accommodated as a tiny recompense for all that Harry had done for her magical world as well as for her personally.

"Harry?" Daphne called out, softly, from the central hallway.

"Mmmph?" asked Harry.

"Daphne?"

"I'm home," Daphne said as she entered the salon. Daphne swirled her cloak and tossed it over the back of a sofa. "Did you eat?"

"I did," said Harry. He couldn't hold in the smile when he acknowledged: "What there was of it."

"Isn't Kreacher wonderful?" Daphne asked. "A natural collaborator. Did you have to raid the pantry for a little extra?"

"No, I was being a tease," Harry said. "There was plenty and it was all delicious. Are you going to sit down?"

Harry put his book on the floor and slid his wand up his sleeve. His lap was empty. Harry tried to remain neutral but a quick glance down indicated he'd very much like to offer his lap to Daphne as a place to sit. Daphne obliged without hesitation, one arm around the back of Harry's neck, hands meeting and fingers intertwined. The only thing missing was her welcome home kiss.

"How was your shift?" asked Harry as soon as the formalities were over.

"The usual," said Daphne. She lifted her left leg and flipped her shoe off with the toes of her right foot, reversed and repeated.

"Not much that was interesting."

Harry gave her one additional little peck on her lips, accompanied by a tightening of his arms.

"Good," he said. Emergency healing personnel have loved ones and those people do not like to hear that their healer has had an interesting evening shift. An interesting evening or overnight shift means certain botherment, or worse, for someone.

"Anything happening out here?" Daphne asked.

"As luck would have it," Harry began, "We got lucky today."

"Did we?" asked Daphne.

"We did," said Harry, "Believe it or not, the little alabaster bust is…"

"No!" said Daphne, interrupting Harry in a rare display of ill manners.

"None other," Harry said, "Than Iolanthe Peverell Potter. She was carved by an itinerant artist Hardwin Potter brought home to Godric's Hollow from a trading trip to the Continent. She doesn't know when she was put away and the last king she remembers anyone talking about was Richard the Third. We're going to have to be very careful with her. Walburga is giving our current world a loving embrace in comparison."

"Oh, that's an image," said Daphne. "Husband, my schedule is favorable. Tomorrow I'm in my office, and that's that. What would you say if I asked if your chit, good for one treat, can be redeemed this very night? I think I know how I want to un-jangle my nerves to ensure a good night's sleep. You might benefit from some un-jangling yourself."

Harry let Daphne unwrap herself, stood and called out 'Nox.'


	40. Chapter 40

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Forty

Magical Domestic Life

Daphne's left hand lay on the side of Harry's face as she kissed him on his lips.

"Now I'll definitely be able to sleep," she half-murmured, half-whispered.

Harry reached down and pulled the sheet up over the two of them.

"I'm so glad," he said. "We can't send a tired healer out to interact with her patients, make them well, save the world. That way lies sloppy healing work. I thought of something today that I wanted to discuss with you, but events…spinning out of control…"

"That last bit was much more fun than whatever it was you wanted to discuss, I'm sure," Daphne said.

"Was it? For you, too?" Harry asked.

"Quit gloating and get to your subject matter," said Daphne. "I swear I'm drifting off and talking at the same time."

"I just wanted to ask if you still owe Gringotts and if so, if you'd like to pay that off? We've certainly got the income to do it."

"I do owe, a bit, but I'm happy paying it off out of the income from my practice," said Daphne. "It was something I did on my own, it shouldn't be something you take on as a lien that you must assume, attached to your new wife. I'm a grown-up and can meet my obligations."

"It sounds like you are getting some satisfaction out of it," said Harry.

"Does it? That's very astute of you," Daphne said. "Do you need to pay it off to redeem me from Gringotts? Do you fear foreclosure?"

Harry started laughing.

"No, of course not," he finally managed to say. "It was just a loose end and I wanted to be helpful. Stick to your plan. You're enjoying making your payments and reading your statements. I get it. Finally, perhaps, but I get it."

Harry could see Daphne's wide-awake eyes in the dim bedroom.

"We are having fun, aren't we?" Daphne asked.

"Every day," Harry assured her, "With interest, compounded."

Harry and Daphne could take a little extra time for breakfast on the days Daphne went straight to her own office. She arrived at nine, or a few minutes either way, saw her first patients at nine-thirty and usually could finish up promptly at four in the afternoon. The next morning was exceptionally pleasant so they had breakfast together in the garden. Things had been calm for a few days and they did everything at a leisurely pace, perhaps prompted by some instinct that told them to enjoy it while it lasted.

"You're in your office all day?" Harry asked.

"Should be, emergencies excepted," answered Daphne. "You?"

"Same," said Harry. "Pansy will be mediating between the tea gods and the mortals at the shop this morning so I'll stick close to the office. Would you like me to bring you something for lunch?"

"I think that would work," said Daphne, getting a huge smile on her face as she spoke. "You come up with the most excellent ideas, husband."

Harry almost hated to leave for the office, things were going so well in the garden, but both he and Daphne were expected. They left for their separate places of employment. Once they got up and moved, each became eager to get back to the useful work that had captured their imaginations.

Harry had already placed an order for pickup from the Leaky Cauldron when Pansy Parkinson got back to Potter and Associates. They exchanged a few words about the tea room and Harry's lunch date at Daphne's office before Harry departed.

"Umm…those elves over there," said Daphne. She finished with her napkin and dropped it in the waxed paper wrap that had held Daphne's sandwich. Daphne folded it all up by halves, several times over, handing everything on to Harry.

"This was nice," said Harry. "Let's do it more often."

"Works for me," Daphne agreed. "You save me the time it would take to order, pay the delivery, all of it. Time…"

"…is gold," Harry finished. "So I'll be going."

"No need to rush," said Daphne. "I'm a little ahead, thanks to you."

"Might as well, though," Harry said. "I'll finish up at the office and see you at home. Anything special you want for dinner?"

"You and Kreacher can surprise me," said Daphne.

Harry leaned over and kissed Daphne's cheek. Bumped her cheek, in reality, his balance and depth perception both taking a short break.

"See you at home," Harry said as he stepped out.

Daphne still had some minutes left for lunch break. She used the sink in her office to wash her hands and returned to her desk. She lay her right hand in a patch of sunlight on her desk and turned her ring slowly back and forth.

"Iolanthe?"

The diaphanous little figure slowly came into focus just fractions of an inch above the sapphire.

"Lady Potter," said Iolanthe. She was immaterial but that didn't affect the huge smile. "How can I help you? Are you going to give me something to do for the Potters?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact," said Daphne. "What can you tell me about that portal? Do I have to ask you to come out in order to open it?"

Like all but the most brilliant students, muggle or magical, who prepare for a medical career, Daphne had been forced by necessity to hone and polish her study skills—focus, information gathering, rapid retention—so she crammed several very astute and to-the-point questions into her few minutes with Iolanthe.

"This has been interesting, not to mention extremely helpful, Lady Iolanthe," said Daphne. "You've given me a lot to work on. I have to go see patients now, but I'm going to be practicing, I assure you."

"You do that," said Iolanthe. "Reach out. Project. See what you can do. I'll be right here."

The little figure faded out. Leaving coincided with a subtle vibration in Daphne's ring.

Daphne said good-bye to her last patient of the day a little before four p.m. She made a show of fussing over a bit of inconsequential paperwork to let her assistants depart, then closed her door and set her wards. There was an apparition point just yards from her office but Daphne didn't use it. Instead, she cast a little occlusion charm and walked down the block a bit before stepping into a narrow alley. There, she opened up her portal, visualizing Harry's wedding ring.

Harry's office appeared in the portal. Daphne didn't hear any voices so she assumed her husband was alone.

"It's Daphne," she called out.

"Come through," said Harry, sounding as if he were expecting the disembodied voice.

Daphne stepped through the portal, turning back and closing it before turning to face Harry, along with Harry's wand.

"Daphne," Harry said, laying his wand down on his desk. "May I suggest keeping your portal open when you complete these routine trips? That way if you find yourself in a spot upon arrival, you can go right back."

Sometimes, when some serious stress resolved and Daphne grasped that she had passed the crisis unharmed, she got a sensation that she attributed to the color draining completely from her face. Daphne was sure she lost her color simultaneously with the lowering of Harry's wand.

"Good idea, Harry. Really good idea, thanks," Daphne said. "I resolve to make that standard practice. What are you doing here? I thought you'd be at home."

"Why'd you come to the office then?" asked Harry.

"I didn't go to a place," Daphne said with just a bit of a smirk. "I went where that ring was."

Harry lifted up his left hand and put a little questioning look on his face.

"Yep," said Daphne. "_How did she do that_? That's what you're asking yourself right now, isn't it?"

"Ah, sure, that was it, exactly," Harry answered.

"Rightfully so," Daphne confirmed. "Because you don't have any idea. You didn't even know it was possible to do such a thing, did you? Wizard?"

"I confess, no," said Harry. "Did I miss something at Hogwarts?"

"NO," said Daphne. "Your ancestor coached me. She doesn't know if anyone bothered to write it down and she doesn't remember if it was originally Potter or Peverell magic. She's very old and those details are hard for her. No matter. They aren't that important and she's very sharp on the casting."

"You know, that portal could be really important," Harry said. He looked up at the ceiling, pinching his lower lip, the picture of a wizard deep in thought.

"Could it? Gosh," said Daphne.

"Okay, I'm not minimizing your discovery," Harry said, coming down from the clouds. "You're having a bit of fun with me, aren't you?"

"You volunteered," Daphne explained. "'t'would be a shame to waste your sacrifice. I'll practice some more and see if I can figure out how to teach it to you. Lady Iolanthe might have something to do with it. I'll have to remember to ask. Are you ready to go?"

"I can go," said Harry.

Harry had one correspondence file out so he put it in the cabinet and locked the front door.

"Ready," he said.

Daphne closed her eyes. When she opened them she had the tips of her thumbs and first fingers together, forming a triangle. She pulled her hands apart and Harry looked through his office wall into the salon at Potter Manor.

"Go," said Daphne, and seconds later she was closing the portal behind the two of them.

"Wow," said Harry. "You have some writing to do, Lady Daphne. Isn't that something? Ever heard of anything like it before?"

"A portal someone can open just like that?" asked Daphne. "No. I heard of portals, of course, but I always thought they were arranged by specialists, like portkeys. We need to find out everything we can, limitations, potential for dangerous situations or bad outcomes. Things like splinching."

"Right. That must be a dandy. A portal splinch. We're agreed there is a total embargo on information, aren't we?" asked Harry. "I don't think anyone needs to know about this but us."

"Absolutely," said Daphne. "We'll have to use it sparingly. Actually, perhaps carefully is a better word. There is no reason to give this away. It's a perfect example of why we keep our family magic to ourselves."

Harry and Daphne were both thrilled to have such a useful discovery to add to their growing body of family magic. The good feelings lasted right through dinner and their evening hours together. Daphne had just a few appointments at her office the next day because she was working an evening shift at St. Mungo's. The two of them used the morning to work on their to-do lists, staying close together even if they were working on different things. They had an early lunch so Daphne could leave for the office at noon.

"Off at eleven, then?" Harry asked as Daphne prepared to depart.

"Yes, barring disaster I ought to be here by quarter-past," she answered.

"Any special requests?" asked Harry. "Tea? Biscuits?"

"Why don't you and Kreacher knock yourselves out?" Daphne suggested. "Some cookie out of a package and a glass of milk?"

Harry was still pondering when the green flames flared up and Daphne disappeared.

Daphne should have been back at Potter Manor enjoying a cup of tea and one of Kreacher's delicious date bars by eleven-sixteen that evening. Her private patients had some interesting complaints but nothing all that time-consuming to treat. Evening shift emergencies were manageable, although, as always, Daphne was in awe of the ability of witches and wizards to find imaginative ways to incur illness and injury. She'd had to come to grips with the phenomenon early in her career, as all healers did. Her patients were tinkering with magic, some of which evaded any human effort to control or use it safely. It was just the price a magical person paid for the conveniences.

Daphne intended to depart and return home by her usual route, out the lesser-used exit from Emergency to the street, then to a little, unobtrusive apparation point tucked into the side of the building, then across the rear lawn and garden of Potter Manor. She was thinking about getting home, getting her feet up, and enjoying that cup of tea Harry had promised. Her reverie was rudely interrupted by the pair of arms that wrapped around her from the rear, followed by the phenomenon of being someone's unwilling side-along traveling companion.


	41. Chapter 41

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Forty-one

On Foreign Shores

Daphne smelled burlap.

Putting the smell of burlap together with the feel of rough material on her cheek, Daphne deduced that she had been hooded, overpowered and transported. Before she could react her arms had been tied, as well as her wrists. Someone had been nimble enough to slip her wand out of her sleeve while she was immobile.

"Hello?"

Daphne listened with her ears while initiating occlumency and legilimency. A witch of Daphne's skill and experience, not to mention daring, would not find a hood or bonds of cordage any sort of challenge. At the same time, if she were being watched, the watchers and/or kidnappers might take offense if she overcame their measures too easily. Better to play along for a bit and let them lower their guard.

Daphne detected one additional person nearby. It wasn't much of a surprise when she made a quick tour of the person's psyche and found he was Laurent Selwyn. Daphne fought a desperate internal battle to control her temper. She was a noble witch, a married woman and a free citizen of London. Empires had been destroyed for taking that combination lightly, that was a simple historical fact. Sitting on what felt like a wooden stool, wearing her hood, Daphne occupied a commanding position. It wouldn't do to give that away without getting some advantage in return.

"Whoever you are, you could find yourself in a lot of trouble for this," she said. "If you want me to negotiate in good faith on your behalf you'll have to cease this imitation criminality."

"SHUT UP!" came Selwyn's reply.

Another mind came within range, but it wasn't close by. Daphne couldn't understand the language of the mind's internal dialog but she could grasp a little of the thinking. The person didn't seem overly bright, focusing on some errand they had been given.

"Can you tell me what you want?" Daphne asked.

Selwyn was agitated, not yet critical but getting there. Daphne formed a working theory that Selwyn had gotten involved in something that seemed like a good idea, at the time, but was now having second thoughts. She wondered if a peaceful resolution was obtainable. Selwyn was conflicted. One side of his brain wanted to stick to the plan. The other side didn't think things were going according to plan and argued for getting out while that was still possible.

"If you want to walk this back and minimize your accountability, perhaps I can help," Daphne said. "Every second you let go by makes that harder."

Selwyn gave a great sigh and Daphne felt the burlap being pulled up. Without the jute to cover it up she smelled mildew mixed with oily smoke.

"Laurent," Daphne sighed. "What have you gone and done?"

She was sitting on a wooden stool in a room with stone walls and a heavy door made of substantial lengths of wood bound together with thick steel straps.

Selwyn stared, anger showing on his face.

"What have I done? What have I done? Your father took me and my entire family for fools!" shouted Selwyn. "It's payback time. You are going to help me bring Harry Potter here. The people outside have a disagreement to settle. As a reward for my help, I'll court you, however you wish, but you will become Mrs. Laurent Selwyn. Eventually you'll be Lady Selwyn. That is not something to sniff at, Daphne."

"And Harry?" asked Daphne.

Laurent Selwyn smirked.

"He won't be a consideration."

"Oh, Laurent, you will not come out of this at all well, don't you see?" Daphne asked. "Harry won't let this go. You haven't gone too far to turn back. Why don't we just get out of here and go back to London? You had a little episode, we can check you in with the unit at St. Mungo's and they'll help with the stress until you can see everything clearly."

"Translation: Plead insanity and spend a good chunk of my life drinking blah-blah potions," Selwyn answered. "No thank-you. Cyrus Greengrass opened negotiations with the Selwyns for your hand. Then he broke everything off! You can't do that without repercussions. We offered to take Astoria, but apparently, we weren't good enough for her, either! Well, this is all going to be made right, and you are going to help make it so, Daphne. Then when we're married, we'll put this all in the past and I will make you happy. You know I can do that, and I will, Daphne, so help me Merlin."

Daphne stared at Selwyn. She couldn't remember feeling such a mass of conflicting emotions before. Daphne knew she had to keep her head because Laurent Selwyn was most definitely out of his.

"Sort this through, be systematic," Daphne heard. She was repeating the words of one of her favorite tutors as they reviewed her notes from a patient interview. There were multiple symptoms, some related and others completely alien. Where was the healer to begin?

Daphne entered practice and started seeing such cases immediately. The remedy for a simple case might be a simple potion that had not changed in fifty years. If the condition that brought on the initial complaint was overlaid by another disorder, the practitioner will be confronted by the question of which to treat first? Was there a compound treatment? What if the standard treatment for one condition aggravated the other? What if the visible symptoms masked another, more serious condition? Answering those kinds of questions was a big part of how a healer made a living.

"Laurent, can you listen, for just a couple of minutes?" asked Daphne, trying again. "I am the reason Cyrus couldn't go on with your discussions. I didn't want to marry so I helped Father out with some financial difficulties which took away his incentive for selling me off to the Selwyns. Oh, don't make that face, Laurent, we both know he was selling me, plain and simple. It was my name and my blood status that made me a commodity. You weren't looking for a wife who was competent at healing, who had her own income, who'd lived independently. You wanted someone to live at Selwyn Manor and be an apprentice hostess to your mother, someone to take to dinner someplace in London where you'd be recognized so you could read about yourself in the next Prophet's social column. Look at me, Laurent! Do I look to you like that kind of wife?"

Selwyn was temporarily out of words. Once he'd vented his rage at the insult to himself and the Selwyns conveyed by Cyrus' perfidy in negotiations he discovered his tank was empty.

"I would have been a good husband for you, Daphne," said Selwyn, "And I will be, you'll see."

Daphne felt she had hit refusal. A miner can go so far with his pick and shovel, as long as he doesn't dig his way to bedrock. When he gets to the bedrock he must change tools.

"What do you want me to do, Laurent?" asked Daphne. "What is my role in this plan?"

"Right now, you sit there on that stool, you don't make trouble, and you wait," said Selwyn, standing up and reaching for the heavy iron door bolt. "Things are in motion. Harry Potter will arrive, our hosts will take care of their business, and we'll be on our way. You'll see, Daphne, I'm going to give you a wonderful life."

With that comment, Laurent Selwyn left Daphne alone and closed the heavy wooden door, sliding the exterior bolt noisily into its stop.

Daphne had encountered serious mental illness from time to time during her studies. She had not had any show up in her private practice. Psychotic episode cases were brought to emergency now and then. Daphne's preliminary diagnosis was based on her direct observation of Laurent Selwyn over the course of their conversation. Selwyn was convinced he had a good command of the relevant facts and that Daphne Greengrass, once free of Harry Potter, would be happy as Mrs. Laurent Selwyn. In other words, Laurent Selwyn had an insufficient grip on reality. In laymans' terms Laurent Selwyn was batshit crazy.

Daphne would have liked to have her wand back but it wasn't necessary for what she was going to do. After casting a couple of silent spells and getting out of her restraints, she stepped over to the door and looked out the tiny, barred window. She didn't have a very good angle on the corridor but she could see whitewashed walls and sconces. No people were visible. Daphne went back and picked up her stool, which she moved to the corner with the most shadow.

Daphne took a few moments to clear her mind. She rubbed her wedding ring and thought of Harry's, visualizing it on his hand. She raised her right hand and whispered to Iolanthe's ring.

"Iolanthe, I'm going to need a portal so that I can speak to Harry, wherever he is," Daphne said.

She sat on her stool, rubbing her wedding ring and focusing, focusing, focusing, trying to see Harry's in her mind. When she felt ready, Daphne put her forefinger and thumb tips together in a triangle and slowly pulled them apart. Looking at the space between her hands through half-closed eyes, Daphne saw portraits, shelves of books and paneled walls. Harry wasn't in sight, nor did she hear voices. The picture became distorted and Daphne thought she was losing it, until she refocused and began to pan slowly to the right. A leather chair appeared, and it was occupied. Daphne's heart leapt.

"Harry, it's Daphne…"

"Daphne! Where are you? Should I make tea?" Harry called out.

"SHHHH! We have to be very quiet," Daphne said. She related a short version of her exit from St. Mungo's and subsequent incarceration.

"I think I must be at the Bergs' place," she concluded.

Harry jumped up, drawing his wand.

"Coming through!" Harry said.

"No, not just yet," Daphne insisted. "If we have to fight I'll need to get my wand back first and I'll just be a drag on you until I do. Listen to this, I've got a couple of things I want you to do…"

Five minutes later Daphne reopened her portal to the salon at Potter Manor.

"Harry?"

"Right here," said Harry.

"All set?" asked Daphne. "Come through anytime."

Harry Potter and Narcissa Malfoy stepped out of Potter Manor and into a stone cell occupied by Daphne Greengrass.

"Here," Harry said, handing Daphne his holly wand. "Just a thought: it isn't a stranger to a bit of power and it's very faithful, so if you want it to clobber something, or someone, it won't hold back."

"You're such a good husband," said Daphne. "What are you going to use?"

"Oh, I've got a spare," Harry said. "Now, I propose Madame Malfoy and I conceal ourselves in the interest of surprise. The door opens that way so we'll want to be in the shadow."

Harry stepped across the cell as he reached inside his shirt. Once he and Narcissa were in position, Harry unfurled his invisibility cloak and gave it a swirl, up and over the two of them.

"Hey! None of that," Daphne heard Harry say.

"Lady Malfoy, are you taking advantage of my husband under that cloak where I can't see you?" Daphne demanded.

"If you can't see me, then nothing happened, did it, Lady Black?" asked Narcissa, in a very girlish giggle.

Everyone went silent when the sound of a bolt sliding through steel shackles sounded in the cell.

"Who's here?" demanded Laurent Selwyn. Daphne thought his eyes looked ready to pop out of his skull. Selwyn's breathing was rapid. Daphne willed herself not to look at the shadowy corner. If Selwyn kept it going like that for too long he would soon hyperventilate. He looked around the cell, alerting to the changes Daphne had already made.

"Look for yourself, Laurent," said Daphne.

"I heard voices, plural," insisted Selwyn. "There was a rope…"

"It was uncomfortable," Daphne said. "I took it off. I'm a witch and I won't be tied up. Now, if you are convinced you're hearing voices when your eyes can't see anyone, in a material sense, that could be a sign of something more serious, Laurent. That is my professional opinion, of course."

Selwyn looked addled. Daphne surmised he was trying to reconcile conflicting messages from the environment. His hearing told him there was a conversation going on in the cell while his eyes told him there was no one present besides Daphne. Laurent became more of a puzzle by the minute. Daphne's prior experiences with Laurent Selwyn were very limited. They had little contact at school as he was an upperclassman when she and Harry were first years. Her sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts were chaotic, then she studied healing and entered practice. She hadn't heard the name Laurent Selwyn again until Cyrus proposed the marriage contract.

Without a baseline against which she could judge his present behavior, Daphne fell back on a very generalized picture of how a sane, rational, well-integrated magical personality should conduct themselves. Laurent, she theorized, was definitely in the middle of an episode.

"Fine, Laurent, let's just put all the other stuff off until later. We can't do anything about it in our present circumstances, can we? Maybe you could start by telling me what you'll be wanting me to do. What's your plan?" Daphne asked.

"It's a little early for that," said Laurent. "You're going to be the one who brings Harry Potter here. There is an owl on the way with the message. He'll walk into the trap and you'll be free. All I want is the gratitude to which I feel entitled for getting you out of your mess."

"The mess with my husband?" asked Daphne.

"Exactly," said Selwyn.

"And I'll express my gratitude by marrying you? I am interpreting your plan correctly, am I not?" Daphne asked.

"Well, sure," answered Selwyn. "And that's all! I don't want money, you won't have to work, just live with me at Selwyn Manor and be a proper, noble wife. You were born to do it, your father knows it and so do you. You shouldn't be working and you shouldn't have to settle for a money-grubbing landlord of a husband. You're so much more than that."

Daphne was stuck. She had no words to describe what she thought of Selwyn's proposal. It went deeper, actually. Daphne could not formulate a thought, so she had no use for words even if she'd had them. If Selwyn wasn't truly detached from reality he was doing one award-worthy acting job.

Daphne was still awaiting the arrival of a reaction to the obtuse hallucinations of Laurent Selwyn when an owl appeared at a little window in her cell.

"What?" asked Selwyn as the owl began to peck at the glass.

He drew his wand and gave a little wave at the window. It was a casement type with a lever handle, hinged on the right. Once the window was open the owl flew in and circled the room. It went around once, then twice, before settling on Daphne's shoulder and holding out its leg. Daphne reached up as Selwyn extended his hand for the little roll of parchment. The owl wasn't having it and bit down hard on Selwyn's index finger.

"Ouch, damn you, bird!" Selwyn shouted as he brought his wand to bear.

Daphne had been calm and professional but Laurent Selwyn had just, unknowingly, pushed her past her breaking point. The cool, systematic mind flipped as she shifted her right hand out from under her left arm where she had concealed Harry's wand while conversing with Selwyn. Harry liked to use _expelliarmus_, ever since he learned it by observing Severus Snape using it in second year. Daphne had a similar go-to, one at which she was well-practiced since she found it useful for lots of little tasks around her home or at the office, seldom bothering to use her own wand. Harry's wand didn't know that at the time, of course. Daphne was angry and put some magic behind her spell so the wand went along.

"_Depulso!"_

Laurent Selwyn hit the stone wall across the cell, hard, before he got his own wand properly trained on the owl. His back hit with a very definite thump. His head whiplashed backward in turn, giving Daphne a satisfying CRACK for her trouble. Daphne stood up, the indignant owl still on her shoulder, as Selwyn slid to the floor.

"I guess you'd just as well come out now," said Daphne. "Laurent won't be carrying any tales. Not for a while, anyway."

Harry lifted the invisibility cloak off of Narcissa, who dashed across to the door and closed it, using her own wand to slide the bolt closed. She joined Daphne, who was kneeling over Selwyn. The healer went straight to diagnostic charms, out of long habit, while Narcissa, the practical-minded survivor, found both Daphne's and Selwyn's wands before patting him down.

"Is he going to make it?" Harry asked as he folded the cloak, over and over by halves.

"He ought to, but you never know with the head," said Daphne. "He's fine for right now unless he incurred a little intracranial bleed."

She sounded a bit distressed, a healer who had just done physical harm to another human. Narcissa pivoted, put an arm around Daphne's shoulders and pulled her close.

"Lady Daphne, you did nothing wrong," she said. Narcissa used the voice she'd used on the infant Draco, the one in which she'd spoken to her Death Eater husband when he returned from another humiliating encounter with his psychopathic master. Narcissa had had lots of opportunities to practice and Daphne calmed down quickly.

"That cad wants to murder your husband, besides turning his wand on an innocent creature that was just doing its duty. He deserves a sound thrashing. Besides, he tried to abscond with my beautiful daughter-in-law on the cheap by taking advantage of a wizard in distress. Don't think about right or wrong now. Believe me, if Laurent Selwyn were to just go to sleep right here and not wake up, he'd owe you a debt of gratitude."

Daphne looked at Harry.

"Narcissa is right, Daphne," he said. No anger showed on his face. Daphne would have understood anger. She didn't understand looking at the familiar face of her beloved husband and seeing the featureless blank that stood at the opening of the tunnel that continued straight to the void at the center of all that was. Daphne felt the chill run up her spine, the one that age-old superstition asserted someone had just walked across her future grave.

Harry wasn't angry, Daphne saw. He wasn't agitated or in a mind to mete out revenge on the Selwyns or the Bergs. He simply WAS, she understood, one with the implacable cycle. Daphne realized with a start what was coming, unless Harry met some obstacle.

"No, Harry, we won't," Daphne said.

Nothing changed in Harry's face. Daphne still had Harry's holly wand in her right hand. She looked at the wand Harry held. It looked familiar. Merlin.

"Harry? That wand…didn't Dumbledore use that wand?"

Harry looked down at the Elder Wand, then at Daphne.

"Yes," he said. He raised the wand, pointed it at the door and moved the tip in a little circular motion. The door seemed to de-materialize in the middle, where Harry was pointing. He enlarged the transparent circle until it resembled a ship's porthole. Harry moved the tip of his wand a few degrees left, and the image moved left, then back to the right when Harry moved the tip that way.

"Useful," Harry said. "No one right outside, if you want to get going."

Daphne tried to parse Harry's words. She wasn't afraid of a fight, she just didn't want to start one unnecessarily.

"Instead of going that way, it might be better to open the portal and go home," Daphne suggested.

"Hullo!" said Harry as the owl launched from Daphne's shoulder and moved to Harry's, where it again raised the leg with the little scroll of parchment. Harry pulled the tube from the loop of thread, unrolled it, and began reading to the witches.

"Mr. Potter," he said.

"Your wife will be the guest of the Berg-Mendini family until you join her at our seat. The location is unplottable so you will present yourself before the Café Louisiane in Ramosch and you will be conducted here by a guide."

Harry looked at his confederates.

"I don't think we can get out of this one," he said. "They'll assume I am out for blood now, for as long as I live. We can disappear for now, especially with Laurent sound asleep over there, but that won't be the end of it."

"Lady Daphne?" said Narcissa.

Daphne shrugged.

"What do you think?" Daphne asked.

"Harry is right," said Narcissa with no hesitation. "Whatever got their attention did a good job. They won't be distracted now. They've conspired with a British wizard to kidnap and ambush two of our own. They can't be thinking strategically or about longer-term consequences."

"I'm in," sighed Daphne. "It truly hurts to say it but know you're both right. What do you want to do?"

Harry wished he had the time to think everything through, but that was a luxury for another time. The witches let him finish then began going over details. They weren't picking at the plan, which was good. They did make a couple of very fortunate changes.

"The sky is getting light enough that I think I should go. Can you two sustain that long enough for me to get brought back here from Ramosch?" Harry asked.

"Don't worry about us, Harry," Narcissa assured him, her face one huge grin. "We have to test our limits. This is an opportunity, so look at it that way."

Harry thought he probably looked like he was very skeptical of Narcissa's affirmation but there wasn't time to argue. He looked at Daphne.

"Good luck," she said, adding a peck on the lips.

"Want to come along?" Harry asked the owl.

Giving a single hoot, the owl launched from Harry's shoulder and flew out the window.

"You're sure you can find your way?" Narcissa asked.

"As long as I don't get caught in an undetected Alpine gale," Harry said.

"Harry!"

Daphne's scolding coincided with a wave of Narcissa's wand. Just briefly, a translucent gray simulacrum of Harry replaced the solid one, before a column of smoke rose and disappeared out the open window.

"Piss off, Selwyn," said Narcissa. She used a common hex, _incarcerous_, wrapping several turns of decent rope around and around, binding Selwyn's arms to his trunk with some extra for his wrists and ankles. Checking the door bolt one more time, Narcissa put her left arm around Daphne.

"Wands secure?"

"Uh-huh, let's go," said Daphne, as Narcissa transformed them both into smoke.

Harry drifted over Our Place, the owl keeping pace, flying a little ahead, then dropping back. Harry fought the urge to let the owl navigate. He was the one who did a quick study of the map when Daphne gave him five minutes to get Narcissa to Potter Manor and be ready to join her in her captivity.

The flight gave Harry time to think. The Berg-Mendinis, that was new information. Romilda's de-briefing had alluded to groupings within the population of Our Place, but he had met only Bergs. Of course they had to keep them straight, somehow, so the additional surname made sense. Harry wondered if there were more.

His sense of direction proved adequate, if not perfectly true, and Harry re-formed in a little clump of trees in the corner of a field. He walked across the intersection of two roads and into town. Café Louisiane was a full-service, world tourist facility, with sidewalk signboards and menus in a word salad of languages.

"Okay, I promised, let me find a table," Harry said to the owl. A little round pedestal table needed clearing, but it was vacant, so Harry took a seat. The nearest sign promised breakfast all day. Harry signaled the waiter who zigzagged over and began picking up from the previous customer. The waiter offered Harry a menu, which Harry declined.

"One egg, boiled, bacon, bread. Coffee, please," said Harry.

"Sir," nodded the waiter. He glanced at the owl on Harry's shoulder.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but isn't it unusual to see them in full daylight?"

"I believe so," Harry agreed. He didn't offer anything further and the waiter nodded and went back inside.

"No," Harry advised. His owl companion was eying the sparrows that hopped from flagstone to flagstone, table top to table top, pecking at crumbs fallen from baguettes. The owl looked anxious, seeing all that breakfast on the hoof, so frustratingly close. Talons took a better purchase on Harry's shoulder, the owl rocked slightly back then leaned forward with a great 'HOOT!'

The sparrows broke off their grazing and took flight. Two or three pigeons looked at Harry, assessed the owl wasn't big enough to threaten them, and went on with breakfast. Harry's owl made some subtle chortling sounds. Harry wondered if the owls had been laughing all along, and he'd somehow missed it.

When his breakfast arrived, Harry held up a strip of bacon in one hand while pinching off clumps of bread with the other. He wasn't dressed for the early temperatures, it seemed to the townsfolk hurrying to work or the other up-early travelers out on the street. The owl gave them pause. One of those eccentrics who feed birds or busk in every downtown in Europe, they thought. An occasional tourist strolling by tried to snap a surreptitious photo to document their Alpine sojourn.

The owl quieted right down after the third little piece of bacon. Harry wondered if bacon were really good for owls. It wasn't necessarily good for humans but he'd been around enough to know that bacon overcame the dietary restrictions of various religious groups as well as otherwise-dedicated vegetarians. Why should owls be any different?

Harry was cracking the shell of his boiled egg when a youngish man crossed the sidewalk and stood behind the second chair at Harry's little table.

"Sir, may I? Join you and your companion?" asked the man.

Harry wondered several things at once. Was the man his contact from the Berg-Mendini clan? Was he some kind of con, wanting to do a too-good-to-be-true currency exchange? Was he selling drugs? Was he cruising and just liked Harry's looks?

"Please," said Harry as he waved toward the chair.

"You are Harry Potter?" asked the man, getting off to a very bad start with Harry.

"Mind?" Harry asked, turning his attention to his egg.

His guest a bit out of sorts from the rebuff, Harry tapped the eggshell with the edge of his spoon while making a surreptitious surveillance of the café and the nearby street. He spotted a younger man dressed in blue jeans and a brown canvas coat, standing directly across the street, who did not take his eyes off of Harry and the stranger. Harry decided to see if he had any influence on the terms of the debate.

Slipping into the rough fellow's mind was easy enough. He didn't seem to have knowledge of occlumency, much less the ability to use it. Harry began by inserting a vague feeling that the man would soon need to visit a restroom, causing him to start shifting his weight from one side to another.

"Don't want to do business on an empty stomach," Harry said. "Can we get you something? The coffee is very good, if you don't want to eat."

"It is," said the man. He gestured to the scalloped edge of their umbrella, which bore the name of a popular coffee brand. "Hence its popularity everywhere you go in Europe."

Harry waved to the waiter, ordering two more coffees. While his guest was distracted Harry went back to his other project and gave the man in work clothes an itch on one shin. He bent to scratch and, looking down, saw a horde of ants coming and going from a crack between paving blocks, directly under his boot. The man turned his full attention to slapping at his trouser leg, trying to remove the ants, which seemed to be coming out of the crack faster and faster, climbing his boot and infesting his outer clothing. He forgot about needing a bathroom.

Harry rewarded the man across the table with a laugh about the coffee.

"Can't argue with you there," he said. "Have you done a lot of traveling?"

"There is a family office in Salzburg. It's a good deal more convenient to deal with business matters there than from here," the man replied. "I was sent to look over some shoulders. No one else wanted to do it so I stayed longer than I intended. Salzburg, Vienna, Zurich, they all have a way about them. I like the way they look. Being in the city is not the same as being right in the mountains, of course."

Harry spooned some boiled egg out of the shell. He had to focus on the spoon, the egg and the shell that he held in his opposite hand, so it probably wasn't all that remarkable that he lost eye contact with the man at his table, whose name he still didn't know. As long as he was free from his social obligations, Harry took the liberty of sending the hallucinatory ants inside the pants of the gentleman across the street. Harry discovered the ants were the kind that liked to bite. The man began to curse the ants in a language Harry couldn't understand.

"Harry Potter," Harry finally acknowledged. He didn't offer his hand, just a nod to affirm his guest's surmise.

"Ricardo Mendini," said the man. "You're in business yourself, there in England?"

"I am," said Harry as he scooped another bit of egg from the shell. Harry liked to get some of the yolk along with the white, although he didn't know why. Most of the time he was unaware he even had a preference.

"Real estate. Some apartments, some commercial. Mostly in mixed London neighborhoods. I try to find under-used buildings with both kinds of spaces, put them in the best possible shape and rent them out. Were you aware we had some internal conflicts within a small community in our country, just a few years ago?"

"I did hear about it," said Mendini. "Word does get around, if a bit slowly, down here. It sounded serious."

"Oh, it was serious, for anyone involved," Harry affirmed. "The damage, particularly property damage, required a lot of remedial action. That is how I got started. After a little time went by it dawned on me the pain and misery were one aspect and the opportunity for someone like me another. So ironic. I'd wait tables in a sidewalk café if I could take back all the pain on both sides from the whole episode. No amount of money is worth what so many people went through."

"You're a humanitarian," said Mendini. "A humanitarian, and a businessman. You have a strong sense of justice, don't you?"

"That depends," said Harry.

The man across the street was still slapping at his outer clothes. Harry showed him a mental picture of ants eating their way into flesh, the man's flesh, down underneath all of his clothing. The man took off his jacket and threw it to the sidewalk, pulled off his boots without undoing the laces, shucked his pants followed by his shirt and underwear. He went running, high-stepping, into the street, finally throwing himself to the cobblestones and flopping, fish-like, first on his front, then back-side, howling out words Harry couldn't understand.

Two policemen in peaked caps ran in from down the street somewhere, blowing whistles. They saw a naked man in an agitated state rolling around on cobblestones, scratching himself and bleeding from nearly everywhere on his body. The police had their batons in hand and Harry thought they were about to try and knock the disturbed man out to make it easier to handle him, but they used the batons to press down on his body so he wouldn't continue to injure himself. The emergency response was swift and barely a minute later the ambulance crew had pumped several injections into the man, lifted him onto a stretcher and sped away.

"Don't see that every day," said Harry.

"Was that necessary?" asked Mendini. "He was no danger to you."

"I prefer the teams to be even, same as the odds," Harry said. "I'll do it again if I find another one."


	42. Chapter 42

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Forty-two

Discoveries

Daphne and Narcissa left the cell via the crack beneath the door, rising immediately to the ceiling of the corridor and setting off to explore Our Place.

"Kind of rustic," Daphne thought. She hadn't turned to smoke in the company of another person before but she was only mildly surprised to hear Narcissa's reply. It was logical, if one took the time to think it through.

"I thought Malfoy Manor was overdue for some updating," said Narcissa. "This…"

"Mm-hmm," said Daphne. "A little extreme, for my taste, anyway. I suppose they're attached to it. Home, you know."

The two drifted down the corridor. Artifacts from various periods of European history were jumbled together without any theme or organization. Some breed of elf did the housework, they could see. The elves weren't that much different from their familiar British elves but these did a lot more of their work by manual effort. They stopped at one point to hover unobtrusively to watch an elf scrub a flagstone floor using a pail of water and a brush.

"I've never seen that before," observed Narcissa. "Do they enjoy doing it that way, do you think?"

"Like some craft we might do, just for the pleasure?" asked Daphne.

"Exactly," Narcissa replied. "Like it is their equivalent of embroidery or flower arrangement."

After a bit they had their fill of floor scrubbing and went on with their exploration.

"What would you call this?" Daphne asked.

"It isn't exactly a castle," said Narcissa.

"No, definitely not, although there are some castle-like features," Daphne went on.

"An Alpine retreat," said Narcissa. "That is what I would propose."

"Excellent," said Daphne. "You know, I've been thinking about something like this, for a family getaway destination. We don't need one yet, of course, but if there are children in the future it might be nice to have something out, away from everything else, the hustle and bustle. Did you ever have anything like that?"

"Mmm," Narcissa agreed, "At the shore, on a little island, maybe the Lake District. No, we didn't need anything like that, I suppose. Mother and Father made sure we got around to see the relatives. Walburga always wanted us girls to come to Grimmauld Place. Later on it occurred to me the three of us could corral the young wizards better than she could. Having all five of us at once was actually giving her a bit of a break."

Daphne laughed, a very low, smoky laugh.

"Can't argue with you there. Just dealing with the portraits…"

"Exactly," said Narcissa. "You understand perfectly. Auntie Walburga is much more useful in a painted representation. She was so volatile. She really was a big help with Cyrus and Cordelia, not to rehash bad memories."

"And you're not, believe me," said Daphne. "You were so right, when she told Father to shut up."

The memory got to Daphne as they drifted down some circular tower stairs and she began to laugh again.

"The two of you were what got Father's attention," Daphne went on. "You cut to the heart of the issue. You gave Mother a new start. I don't think I have found a way to thank either of you properly."

"Lady Daphne, please!" protested Narcissa. "You're the reason I am on this lovely adventure right now. It is I who must start thinking about how to thank you. I can't remember having this much fun before, ever. Look around us. Hello—you are?"

They were hovering among some rafters, great wooden beams blackened by smoke and age, looking down at an oversize portrait of a young nude woman. A woman with a tiny penis and what looked like the beginnings of a scrotum.

"Venus," said the portrait. The witches dropped down for a better observation point.

"I'm loot, now," said the figure. "In life I was a model for a mad monk painter. He had a studio in an abbey. Very worldly, not what you'd expect of a monk. The abbot encouraged him in his art because his commissions brought in the ducats. He was a very good monk, along with being a talented painter. He developed a following among the aristocrats and church hierarchy of the day. He took his vow of poverty seriously. He would not handle money. The poor fellow was tormented by physical desire."

"So he painted Venus, as a man?" asked Daphne.

"Not exactly," said the portrait Venus, her attendant sprites giggling behind their hands. "I was a local freak. Eight hundred or so years ago it wasn't uncommon for fathers to strangle people like me at birth. My family was a tiny bit more enlightened. My parents could read. They kept me at home, out of sight, and taught me themselves. Mother read the Bible to me. I appeared to be a girl, began to develop as a girl, then when I was twelve these man bits enlarged. My parents didn't know what to do. There were one or two very exclusive, very specialized brothels that might have bought me, had my parents known of them. They should have been trying to arrange a marriage but when they didn't the gossip started, that there was something wrong with me. They'd kept me so close there was plenty of opportunity for malicious speculation."

"At some point I came to the attention of a local painter, who did a small portrait of me in a white cap and lace collar. My Spanish monk, Diego, was associated with the abbey between our town and the next one over. He saw the portrait and got in contact through the artist, and I sat for Diego. It was quite bizarre—the first thing Diego painted was a Madonna, with one tiny bared breast. I had to sit with two ancient nuns watching, one on each side of me, ready to cast me out at the first sign of lust by either of us. That one still survives in a side altar in an old church in Italy. Mothers come by and pray before it, asking for help for all kinds of female problems. I'm supposed to be very useful in arranging abundant milk for women who are about to give birth."

"Oh, that is truly a magical history," said Daphne.

"I'll say," Narcissa agreed. "But how did he paint you like that? The nuns must have been mortified."

"Diego got a commission. A very wealthy and undistinguished bishop had a taste for bodies like mine and heard of my condition. He invited Diego to stay with him and consult on the decoration of a new diocesan palace. That meant Madonnas here and there, so Mother came along and took the place of the nuns. She was more open-minded. When the sacred work was finished for the day Diego would work on Venus for another hour. This canvas graced the bishop's bedchamber, strictly as a classical reference, of course."

"Of course," the two witches concurred.

"And you are?" asked Venus. "If I'm not being too forward."

"Oh, not at all. We're a couple of witches," said Daphne. "Just traveling at the moment. Seeing the world. I was kidnapped and brought here as a hostage, so I asked my companion to join me. I hate traveling alone. No one nearby for discussions of all one's new discoveries."

"Like you, a genuine goddess," added Narcissa.

"Well, that is different," said Venus. "So very creative. Someone took you by force so you decided to turn it into a mini-vacay?"

"Exactly."

"Indeed."

Said the witches together.

"So, Madam, how are you loot?" asked Narcissa.

"Oh, the usual," replied Venus. "The way things went back then. Sack of a city, raping and burning, lots and lots of looting. It was the standard way to promote cultural diffusion at the time. Some mercenary fancied me and got me out of a family dining room while his comrades stole candlesticks and golden finger bowls. I was swapped and traded and stolen a few times and then landed with these folks and I've been right here ever since."

"Listen, witches, before I go further, I must say I really appreciate your stopping by. I don't get a lot of chances to talk to such delightful people from outside such as yourselves."

"Well, speaking for myself, I'm delighted we found you," said Daphne, the smoke Narcissa trying to mentally convey a nod of agreement. "You're the most beautiful portrait I've ever seen, and so intriguing with your obvious femininity offset by that extra bit of interest down there."

"I couldn't agree more, Lady Daphne," said Narcissa. "If our friend ever needs a place to stay I know just where I'd put her at Malfoy Manor."

"Oh? And?" asked Daphne.

"Not telling," said Narcissa as she telepathically gave Venus a big wink.

"Madam, we're still exploring," said Daphne. "I hope we get another opportunity to chat. You are so full of information. I love getting first-hand accounts of Renaissance life."

"Too right, Lady Daphne," agreed Narcissa. "So many of our magical traditions go straight back to the Divine Venus here. We yearn to be students at your knee, Madam."

"May it be so," said Venus. "There is plenty of room here on my scallop shell."

The two witches drifted on down a corridor. Besides sending tendrils before them to feel around for malevolent spells and jinxes they weren't paying much attention to where they were going. They had not been in Our Place before so each corridor they explored amounted to the mapping of unknown territory. That could prove important upon Harry's return and what they assumed would be a bloody battle.

"What do you think of the magic around here? So far, I should add," asked Narcissa.

"It isn't overwhelming, at least to me," said Daphne. "What about you?"

"There are certainly some very old elements," said Narcissa. "Harry told me a little about these people, how they go back to Roman colonists and native villagers. That and how they try to live without contact with the outside, in the interest of concealment. That's all I know."

"That's about the extent of my knowledge, too," said Daphne. "If the population has been mostly in hiding all this time then it follows that they haven't been bringing up the magical children as young witches and wizards, nor sending students to the outside schools of witchcraft. We need Romilda here to interpret for us."

"Yes, although Romilda is said to be thoroughly sick of them," Narcissa said. "Oh! Look!"

They had turned a corner in the corridor and drifted directly into a huge room hung with portraits and arms of all types. A standard stood alone on a dais at one end of the rectangularly-shaped room, clearly the place of honor. Atop a staff sat an eagle with wings unfurled. On the eagle's perch Daphne saw the numerals X-I-I.

"The standard of the Twelfth Legion Fulminata," breathed Narcissa. "I need to drift a bit closer."

Narcissa didn't wait for a reply but headed directly for the dais. Daphne heard Narcissa's thoughts as she tried to establish contact with anything conscious that might be embedded in the standard.

"Do you welcome visitors?" Daphne heard.

"I don't know," the standard replied. "I've never had any."

"Pardon me, your…?" said Narcissa.

"Julia," said the eagle. "Just Julia. We don't actually have names but the legionaries declared us sacred and wanted to call us something. Somehow, by consensus, a name emerged among the men. It was always feminine for some reason. We don't have real genders, either. I suppose that ought to be obvious."

"Well, then, it is honorary, like a ship, I suppose," said Narcissa. "We are honored to make your acquaintance, Madam Julia."

"Narcissa, I'm missing some context," said Daphne. "I barely brushed the classics before I had to start concentrating on healing. I regret to say I'm kind of one-dimensional. Well, besides being a witch. I can see you're feeling a bit of awe in Julia's presence."

"Oh, right," said Narcissa. "Well, Julia here is the emblem of a Roman legion. Not just any legion, either. The Twelfth Legion, Fulminata, the Thunderbolt, was raised by Julius Caesar when the Roman Republic was self-destructing. They fought together during the civil war period and the legion went on to campaigns, frontier duty and so on. They had their ups and downs. Victories but defeats, too. The Twelfth lost their standard when it was defeated in battle in the year sixty-six and it was never seen again. Although now, I'm thinking we have discovered its whereabouts. Madam Julia?"

"Yes, an excellent synopsis, and deduction, considering we haven't properly introduced ourselves," sniffed Julia.

"Oh, forgive me, I was so overcome by seeing you I've forgotten all my manners," thought Narcissa. "My name is Narcissa Black Malfoy. I'm a witch, an English witch. This is my chieftain, Lady Daphne Greengrass Potter-Black."

"Honored, Lady Narcissa, honored, Lady Daphne," said Julia. "Are either of you divine?"

"No, no," the witches thought, together. "We're mortal."

"Oh, I thought…" replied Julia. "But no matter. So, where are you going next?"

"Not sure," said Daphne. "We were kind of expecting a…a party, of sorts, but if it doesn't get started soon I think we might just take our leave. What about you, Madam Julia? Do you like it here?"

"Oh, I haven't been lost in battle for a few millennia, so that is a good thing, but this is so boring," Julia replied. "These people got me as part of some ransom deal and put me here like a trophy on a shelf. I'm not that kind of effigy! I crave action. I marched at the head of ten thousand of the best soldiers who ever lived and faced death, starvation, incompetent leadership and every kind of hazard with them, countless times, and they loved me. This bunch thinks I'm kitsch."

"Sounds to me like you wouldn't mind a change of scenery," thought Daphne. "We'll keep that in mind. I wonder if these people play poker?"

Daphne and Narcissa were winding up their conversation with Julia, the standard of the XII Legion, as Harry finished his breakfast. He had warmed up his magic there in the sidewalk café and was feeling satisfied and ready for a little diversion.

"You'll be my guide, I take it?" Harry asked Ricardo.

"Yes, whenever you're ready," Ricardo said before finishing up his coffee. "Do you object to coming by, what do you call it in English—side-along?"

"Oh, let's walk," Harry said. "It's a nice day. So far."

Harry spoke to the owl on his shoulder.

"You ought to fly back, they might have things for you to do."

The owl agreed, hooting before launching from Harry's shoulder.

Ricardo Mendini looked at Harry.

"It's several miles, mostly uphill," he said.

"I'm game," said Harry. "I've enjoyed a total of one hike in the Alps in my entire life. I've no idea why I haven't been back. It's so beautiful up here."

Harry didn't wait for Ricardo but started off on his own in the direction of the owl's flight.

The altitude and uphill nature of their walk wasn't a huge problem for Mendini as he had been born somewhere around nine thousand feet and lived there through his adolescence. Still, he had been away on family business for extended periods. He expected they'd be going slower and slower until he convinced Harry to let him take them both the rest of the way by apparition. Instead, Harry always seemed to be a half step or a step ahead of the sweating Mendini.

Harry assumed Mendini, as a scion of a magical family, knew a simple charm that made it easier to perform physical labor. Harry was able to calibrate his with some accuracy and had lowered his weight by seventy percent before starting out.

The cobblestone street ended and an asphalt road continued upward. The road ended and two parallel tracks continued. Deep ruts occurred frequently so Harry jumped those, even though he had to wait for Mendini on the other side.

"How are you doing?" Harry asked. "Too much time in the office in Salzburg?"

Mendini forced himself to smile.

"It usually comes back quicker, the wind?"

"Better take it easy," said Harry. "Wizards get altitude sickness the same as anyone."

"Mr. Potter, can I ask you something?"

"Sure," said Harry. "That doesn't mean I can give you an answer."

"You came all this way for your wife. Don't you want to get to Our Place? I mean, she is there."

"My wife!" said Harry. "Yes, of course. But she'll be there. I just saw her yesterday and this is such a nice track, and there are the woods! I love the woods. The mystery, you know. I used to have nightmares, if you can believe that. That was before real terror knocked all that silliness out of me. The nightmares happened in the woods and the source of the terror stayed hidden. I'd wake up screaming. Wake everyone else up some of the time. Get punished."

Harry walked easily uphill. The woods got closer and closer.

"Wards I should take care with, I assume?" Harry said as he came to a stop. He looked from Mendini back to the woods. The little owl sat on a branch, out of the sun, staring down at Harry.

Mendini walked to the treeline and stood half in and half out of the sunshine. He was taking his time about something. Harry's owl glided down from its branch and sat on his shoulder. Mendini bent over. It appeared to Harry he was having trouble breathing. Harry walked closer.

"Am I going to walk into anything?" he called out. "You look like you could use some help."

"Just need to catch my breath…" Mendini said, just before his eyes rolled up under his upper lids and he fell backwards to the ground.

Harry drew the Elder Wand, which was under an occlusion charm, and cast _revelio_. He needed to go forward to assist his guide but he had no way to know what kinds of wards or other protections might be in the way. The Elder Wand didn't react at all. Harry couldn't know whether that meant he had yet to encounter any protective measures, his wand didn't recognize the Continental wards, or it simply didn't consider the ones it found to be a problem for a wand of its power and experience.

"Drat!" Harry said to himself. Mendini had passed out, but from what? Would he come to, if left alone, or was his life ticking away with the seconds? Harry rubbed his left thumb against his wedding ring and thought of Daphne's. He'd never opened the portal but he knew how Daphne had done it. Of course, she had Iolanthe on her opposite hand for counsel.

"Oh, well, nothing ventured…"

Harry put his first finger and thumb tips together in a triangle and slowly pulled them apart. When he judged he'd expanded enough, Harry thought of Daphne wedding ring while he talked through the gap between his hands.

"Daphne, it's Harry," he said. "I have a medical emergency on my hands, just on the downslope side of the woods."

Harry looked between his hands into a confusing jumble of a picture. He could see rafters that spanned a great hall laid out beneath him. There was some cloudiness up near the underside of the roof. Was Daphne still smoke? He knew she and Narcissa were going to escape the cell as smoke but he assumed they would restore their human forms and go looking for a good place to stay out of sight until he and his guide arrived back at the main building.

"Oh, good, this is becoming tedious," said Daphne's voice. Harry couldn't tell if it was coming through the portal or from inside his head. He just had time to think, "Either way would be excellent magic, I suppose," when the smoke blew through the portal and right across his face, choking him.

Harry's eyes burned and tears started, followed by coughing and a long gasp to get control of his breath. When he stood up straight and looked around, he saw that both Daphne and Narcissa had joined him, and Daphne was already kneeling over her patient, moving her wand slowly over his face, thorax and abdomen. After a little while, Mendini began to blink his eyes. When he kept them open they must have focused because it was plain that he was looking around, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

"You're Potter's wife!" said Mendini. "You I don't know. And there's Potter. What happened to me? I passed out. Where is Selwyn? What in the name of the Immortals has gone on here?"

Harry, Daphne and Narcissa were fighting back smirks, not because they weren't entitled to a bit of smirking because they were, but out of politeness.

"Ricardo Mendini, Daphne Greengrass," Harry said, indicating Daphne. "Ricardo Mendini, Narcissa Malfoy. From England."

"Of course, of course," said Mendini. "That's to be expected, isn't it? If I asked how…"

He didn't need to complete his question before Daphne and Narcissa were shaking their heads.

"Sorry," they both said, nearly in unison.


	43. Chapter 43

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Forty-three

Back to London

Ricardo Mendini sat on the turf at the edge of the woods. It seemed he was having difficulty processing the last hour of his life. He went on an errand at the direction of his great-aunt, to find one Harry Potter at or near the Café Louisiane and bring him back to Our Place where he was expected to swap his own life, or, possibly, pay a huge ransom, in return for the release of his wife.

Now, Mendini was on the ground, with Harry Potter, Daphne Potter and another witch, Malfoy or something like it, standing over him, with wands all over the place and no help anywhere close. Mendini could not say why the English Harry Potter had out-walked him to the point where he, the native-born mountaineer, had collapsed, nor how Daphne Potter, whom he had last seen tied, hooded and sitting on a wooden stool in a bare stone cell, had been able to speak with her husband and join him in witness to Mendini's humiliation. And she had brought a friend, an older witch with dramatic hair and fingernails, but, worst of all, a bemused expression that conveyed an itch to end the preliminaries and get on to the main bout. Mendini did not like Ms. Malfoy at all.

"So," said Harry.

"Well argued, milord," said the Malfoy witch.

She was holding her wand in her right hand while she tapped the fingertips of her left hand on the shaft. She appeared to be absently fingering a guitar solo while awaiting her lord's nod to go ahead and get it over with.

"What's next?" asked Daphne Potter.

"Me?" asked Mendini. "You're asking me?"

"Of course, you're the host wizard here," said Daphne. "We really must get this underway. I have office hours in London this afternoon."

Ricardo Mendini gave up. There was no way he would understand how Daphne Potter came to be standing in front of him when she was supposed to be confined to a cell in Our Place. Nor could he grasp Harry Potter's complete mastery of the situation, and Ricardo Mendini, when Potter had not appeared to do anything besides eat breakfast and manipulate a low-level observer since the beginning of their encounter.

"This way," said Mendini, letting go of a great sigh.

The little party passed through the woods, Mendini calling a halt at one or two points to do a little wand-waving and jinx-removal. The owl stuck with the group, flying ahead and perching on a branch, letting everyone catch up, then flying on a bit further.

"This is so beautiful, Mr. Mendini," said Daphne. "Our landscapes aren't so dramatic. Do you ski?"

"Thank-you, Lady Daphne," said Ricardo. He was doing a lot better, even though they kept going up. Harry was glad to see the improvement. He used the same charm on Mendini that he had used on himself, silently and wandlessly, and was very pleased with the successful casting.

The little band walked out of the woods before a wild conglomerate of stone, timbers, roof tiles and parapets of every sort of building material, along with a dry moat complete with drawbridge. The moat stank to high heaven as the three walked across the bridge. Narcissa looked up and saw several centuries' worth of streaks running down the stone wall from a little overhanging turret with an opening at its base.

"_Merde_," Narcissa whispered. If Mendini heard he affected ignorance.

"Oh, yes, I ski," said Mendini. "Downhill and Nordic. Nothing like it—or them. Do you get suitable snow where you are?"

"Not a lot, as a rule," Harry said. "Popping over to Norway is a thing, especially in Scotland, where they can just take the ferry."

"Nice," said Mendini. "I'll have to give that a try."

Their guide led the party from England inside via a great opening in the stone wall. A double door hung on iron hinges but it didn't look to Harry like the doors had been closed for decades. Something must have shown in his face because Mendini turned to explain.

"Someone charmed the penetration so they didn't have to open and close the big ones all the time. The charm keeps the wind and snow outside in winter. Trouble is, they didn't write it down and no one alive seems to know how it works. I doubt it could be defended if we ever had a serious siege."

"Couldn't you close the doors?" asked Harry.

Mendini's face took on a rueful expression.

"I don't know for sure but I don't think so," he said. "I tried once when I was in my teens. I think I was in pretty good condition and I couldn't move it."

Harry held his tongue, somehow. He couldn't help wondering why there wasn't anyone around who could make a wand do a little work. A thought flashed through Harry's mind. The Bergs he had met in England were extraordinarily belligerent for people outside of their home territory. He had accused Dieter of having only degenerate Roman magic. Had he been too right?

Harry forced himself to focus. Even if the Berg-Mendinis weren't the wizards and witches that he and his companions were, they could still be dangerous, even lethal, if taken lightly. Marcella had nearly gotten to Romilda with a dagger, a weapon that doesn't require any magic at all.

Ricardo led the way into what must have been the main dining room. Harry could not count the chairs at the long table in the center of the room. There had to be at least twenty on each side. The walls were portraits from one end of the hall to the other. Collections of unpolished medieval weapons and armor stood in disharmonious arrangements in all of the corners.

"What a lovely room," said Daphne. It wasn't to her taste, of course, but her manners were seldom lacking. She knew from her etiquette lessons that a lady always found a subject for a positive comment as soon as she entered a room as a guest.

"Oh, imagine if we had this at our houses!" said a suddenly-enthusiastic Narcissa. "We'd be obligated to do all kinds of entertaining."

"Wouldn't we?" asked Daphne.

Ricardo looked at the two witches. He wondered what they had done with their wands, which they had carried in their hands as the group walked through the woods.

"Well, then, Mr. Mendini, here we are, how can we help you?" asked Harry.

"Well, ah, nothing has gone as everyone expected, so far, so I am not at all sure," said Ricardo. "I think it would be best to call a few people who worked on this, if that is acceptable?"

"Why not?" said Harry.

"Sure," said Daphne.

"We do need to move along," said Narcissa. "Lady Daphne…"

"Has office hours, yes," said Ricardo.

He spoke a few words in a language none of the others understood and one of the creatures that looked much like an English house elf materialized. The two had a short conversation and the elf disapparated.

Before long, Harry and the English delegation took their seats across a broad trencher table from five citizens of Our Place.

"My cousin Amalia Berg," Mendini said, gesturing. "my uncle, Adrian Mendini…"

Ricardo finished and Harry took over.

"My wife, the Healer Daphne Potter and my cousin, Lady Narcissa Malfoy," Harry said. "I am Harry Potter. Thank-you for welcoming us to your home. How can we help you today?"

Ricardo Mendini and his relatives sat silently, looking from face to face. No one seemed to know the answer to Harry's question. They gave every impression of being leaderless and devoid of a plan.

"Where is Dieter? Where is Marcella?"

Amalia Berg had come alive, all at once, her voice piercing the prevailing silence. She appeared prepared to leap the table to get to Harry. Her eyes spoke of outrage toward Harry and all of his accomplices.

"Perhaps?" Harry said, looking at Ricardo.

"Certainly," said Mendini.

"Madam Berg, I spoke to Dieter Berg and Marcella Berg some months ago, in England, and I assure you they were both alive when we parted. I know that and nothing further. Have you spoken to the magical authorities? Filed a report?"

"Authorities? We don't bother with the authorities," said Amalia. Two of the others hissed at her, one adding a little micro-shake of her head.

"Authorities," Amalia muttered as she snarled at her own delegation.

"Amalia, if Mr. Potter says they were alive, we have no reason to doubt him. The thing is, Mr. Potter, two of our number took it upon themselves to right what they determined was a wrong committed against our family," said Ricardo. "A young widow, the wife of our late baron, left shortly after his death, without regard to the family's feelings about a proper period of mourning. Baron Lorenzo wasn't yet buried and she left, leaving no word. It caused a great deal of offense to the community, particularly the late baron's closest relatives."

"That is most unfortunate," said Harry. "Still, I've yet to connect anything concerning your family with the abduction of my wife by a disappointed suitor. What brought about the conspiracy with Laurent Selwyn?"

The room went silent. Ricardo's relatives looked up at the rafters and down at the planks of the trencher, anywhere except at the British side of the table. Harry Potter had just framed the debate in a most disadvantageous way. The possible outcomes began to sink into the consciousness of the Berg-Mendini representatives. In trying to apply a little pressure in the interest of finding their lost relatives, the clan had managed to pick a fight with Harry Potter, who had somehow wrested command of the operation from the family from the outset. What's more, his wife, a healer for Merlin's sake, had single-handedly invited a companion along to Our Place, then declined to stay captured.

"Everyone?" Daphne began, "This appears to be at most a mistake. Laurent can be very trying at times, I know, but he may have learned his lesson. Perhaps with a little counseling he could be convinced to cease being a creature of his own hurt feelings and get on with his life."

Amalia Berg sprang out of her seat. She reached inside her robe as she rose, her face red.

"You…" she shouted at Harry as her wand came out.

Narcissa held up her hand in a 'Stop' signal, as if monitoring the casting of curses was the same to her as directing traffic.

"NO!" sounded in the room, audible to all, although Narcissa had not spoken a word.

Amalia Berg froze. One of the family, who had yet to speak at all, pinched her wand between his thumb and forefinger and plucked it from her hand, placing it inside his own robe, after which he folded his hands on the table in front of him.

"You won't get anywhere by fighting," said Narcissa. "Dear?"

Narcissa gave a most elegant wave toward Amalia's seat and the witch sat back down.

"I fear," said the Mendini nearest Amalia, the one with her wand in his robe, "That we have given offense to a noble family, unnecessarily."

Harry thought the man had been introduced as Maximilian. Maximilian Mendini.

"Madam…" Maximilian said, by way of inquiry.

"Malfoy," said Narcissa, "Please call me Narcissa, as long as we are at table together."

"Maximilian," said Mendini, tapping two fingers on his sternum. "Max, if you wish, Narcissa. It is clear that the family needs to consult. In my opinion we have just been shown that we can no longer live according to the old ways."

Max looked at his delegation.

"We knew this had to come, eventually," he said. "Lorenzo knew it."

At the mention of the old baron's name the family members muttered something that Harry took to be a Romansh equivalent of 'Rest in Peace.' Two of them made the sign of the cross. Harry took a reflexive look around the dining room but didn't see any religious art or symbols.

"He knew he was the end of the old Bergs," Max went on. "The last of his type. We talked about it, several times. He expected us to prepare. We will have to do as our old baron said. You all know he was right."

Maximilian stopped talking and leaned back.

"Mr. Potter…" Ricardo began, before running out of words.

Amalia Berg wondered where the rage had gone. She had come in with relatives determined to cleanse a blemish from the family honor and somehow the foreigners had tamed them all and brought them to heel.

"I hate to rush off, we've barely gotten started, but there will be patients in my waiting room and I'll have to be there for them," said Daphne as she started to get up.

Narcissa looked at Harry.

"We can stay, can't we, Lord Harry?" Narcissa purred. "If we're really needed."

Daphne's face showed a moment of surprise before she laid her hand on Narcissa's shoulder.

"Of course," she said, "If you're needed."

Daphne squeezed Narcissa's shoulder and looked directly into her eyes. Harry thought he could read a room fairly well but he knew he wasn't reading either of the witches. It probably wasn't any of his business and he resolved, in that instant, not to pry.

"Max is right," Ricardo began.

"You've been with the foreigners too long, Ricardo," shouted Amalia. She went off into a tirade in a language Harry couldn't understand, but which he assumed, again, was the Our Place Romansh; he had no doubt Amalia was verbally stripping Ricardo's skin.

"Enough, Amalia," said Max, in English. "Enough. While they are here these witches, and wizard, are our guests. We will not use our language to talk around them. Amalia, you don't know what you are talking about because you have always stayed right here at Our Place. Ricardo ought to invite you to accompany him when he goes down the next time, you need to see what is going on all around us. Our family has so much, so many assets, yet we give the bulk of our income to our agents so we can hide ourselves from the world."

"This is Our Place," Amalia shouted. "Our ancestors gave it to us. We owe it to them to pass it along to the children just as they did. This is our way of life!"

"Everyone has a way of life, as a child, Amalia," said Ricardo. "Children grow, learn new things, change, and that is what they hand on to the next generation. Their way of life doesn't stay the same in every detail. It can't. Our Place needs so much. If you are concerned about the children, don't you think we should do something about the water supply and the sanitation? Who will do that? Can you?"

Harry watched the clan across the table, waiting for someone to take the floor. Finally, Amalia said something in Romansh.

"My cousin cited one of our customs," Ricardo explained. "When we are without a baron the adult members of the community take decisions by meeting in council. She has exercised her right to convene the council and put her views before it. If you would like to take Selwyn and go, feel free. I'll see you out."

"Oh, Mr. Selwyn might want to stay and make his own apologies to the council, for getting you all involved in his private matters," said Narcissa.

"Mmm…" Harry murmured, nodding his concurrence with Narcissa. He raised his hand, in a fist, above his head. The little owl glided down from the overhead beams and perched. Harry transferred him to his shoulder.

"All we need is a little space and we can be off," said Narcissa. She slipped her hand under Ricardo's arm, who was now standing next to her. She let her wrist go a bit limp as her hand moved up and down, caressing his bicep. "Perhaps someplace with a view? I want a memory, like a post card, as a keepsake of all this beauty."

Ricardo swallowed, visibly, then conveyed the little group outside, heading for the drawbridge.

When Harry asked for destinations Daphne chose #12 Grimmauld Place. Narcissa agreed and seconds later they had all appeared on the front step and been welcomed inside by Kreacher.

"Coffee? Tea? Pepper-up?" Daphne asked Narcissa.

"Floo," said Narcissa. "Lucius will be pacing."

"Will he?" asked Daphne.

"No, of course not," said Narcissa. "He's probably still asleep. Draco and Astoria might be a bit agitated by now. We'll catch up over a nice, leisurely lunch. Thank-you, again, for the wonderful diversion. If you get into negotiations or have to exchange gifts, please assure the Bergs their Venus has a home at Malfoy Manor, if they want to offer her up."

Harry stood there, looking as confused as he felt, while Daphne laughed and hugged Narcissa.

"Consider it done," she said. "Thank-you for coming on such short notice."

Daphne looked expectantly at Harry, trying to mentally convey the idea that he should be thanking Narcissa for her assistance, just as much as Daphne.

"Thank-you for everything, Lady Narcissa," he said. "Your command voice got their attention. Saved the day. I won't forget this."

Narcissa swelled up at Harry's comment.

"Any time, my lord," she said. Narcissa seemed to be about to curtsy but Harry cut her short.

"Esteemed cousin," he said and held his two hands out. Narcissa gave him her right hand, palm down, and Harry took it and brought it to his lips. "Thank-you again. Our best to the family."

Narcissa nearly bounced to the fireplace, dropped her floo powder with a 'Malfoy Manor,' and was gone.

"So gracious," said Daphne. She appeared to Harry to be glowing as she gave him a smile and a kiss before dashing upstairs to change from last night's St. Mungo's uniform into her office clothes.

Five minutes later she followed Narcissa out via the floo, changing only her destination.

"Early evening, no St. Mungo's," were her last words before she kissed Harry one more time and was floo'd to her office.

"You'll need a roost, won't you?" Harry asked the owl on his shoulder. "Were you a Berg or an independent? You're welcome to stay with us, but if you like the wild life, that's okay, too."

"HOOT!" said the owl.

"I'll show you what we have here," said Harry as he started up the stairs.

The Blacks always had at least one owl in residence and accommodated it, or them, in an owlery on the top floor rear at #12 Grimmauld Place. There was no tower, just a small, closet-like room with a louvered window penetration that went right up to the soffit. Perches lined two sides of the room and the door was in the wall opposite the louvers.

"We have a house elf, Kreacher, and he is a fanatic about cleaning," Harry said to his owl. "Don't be frightened when he shows up. His appearance takes some getting used to, but you always have the option of going outside if you don't feel like socializing."

Harry got his new friend settled, went back downstairs and on to the offices of Harry Potter and Associates. Harry had a few administrative things waiting for him. They needed doing but it was routine work, requiring little more consciousness beyond a signature or applying a rubber stamp. Before long, Harry had descended into a static state, staring straight ahead for minutes at a time.

Questions arose, questions he couldn't answer. He couldn't even frame a reasonable hypothesis.

How did Laurent Selwyn come to the attention of the Bergs? How did the Bergs come to the attention of Laurent Selwyn? Did Harry read the message in the shoes properly or did he fabricate a red herring for himself? Was he being childish for continuing to harbor a wish to punch Laurent Selwyn in the nose?

Harry's reveries swirled around him in wisps and tendrils. He was about to drift off when the doorbell charm brought him upright in his chair.

"Harry! It's me!" shouted Pansy.

She stood in the door to the foyer, looking like she was about to jump back and put some wall between herself and Harry's wand.

"Oh," Harry said, getting an embarrassed expression as he set the wand aside. "Just drifting off, I guess. Startled. Sorry. How has everything been going?"

"You first," said Pansy. "Starting with where have you been?"

"Have a seat," Harry offered. "Coffee?"

It took about fifteen minutes to tell the story of Daphne's abduction, contact with Harry, the travel of Narcissa and Harry to Our Place and the subsequent negotiations.

"Oh, Merlin and Morgana, Harry!" exclaimed Pansy. "Why didn't you get some help? Those people are bad news, always."

"Timing," Harry told her. "By the time I learned about it Daphne was already at Our Place. She gave me five minutes to get Narcissa and be ready to come through. I had to send Kreacher to Malfoy Manor. So—how about you?"

"Not a lot that's new," said Pansy. "Sales receipts at the tea room keep going up every month. Morag will be here in London through the weekend."

"Then?" Harry asked.

"Back to Glasgow and the cycle continues," said Pansy.

Harry thought Pansy looked a little exasperated. He knew his associate was glad to have another single woman friend to pal around London with and supposed she missed Morag when she was working in Scotland. Harry made a mental note to suggest including Pansy in outings with Daphne when they knew Morag was out of town.

The conversation wound down and Pansy left for her office to update her ledgers. Harry hung on for a few minutes before admitting to himself he would either have to go home for a nap or indulge in a Pepper-Up Potion. Pansy wouldn't have minded if he left because she really wanted to focus on work to the exclusion of all else. Her brain needed a cooling-down break.


	44. Chapter 44

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Forty-four

The Deeply Personal

Pansy was in the middle of a multi-faceted crisis, the kind that should have struck about twenty-five to thirty years later.

She liked the new and challenging, normally, but she had never faced her particular blend of problem pieces before. Alone at her desk, she flung herself, or her consciousness, at her ledgers, focusing on the rows and columns, checking and double-checking sums all the way down to the last knut. She took twice as long as she really needed, just to keep from re-visiting the jumbled architecture that presently occupied another part of her mind.

Pansy's internal turmoil, a mix of anxiety, self-doubt and unsatisfied physical desire, derived from the unresolved details surrounding her relationship with Morag.

Morag's farewell, just before she left Pansy's, on the night they'd gone dancing, concluded with an agreement to have dinner upon her return. Morag stopped by her own flat when she returned from Glasgow. She took a shower and changed into clean clothes. She and Pansy hadn't said anything about going out so Morag wore a dark blue silk blouse over white denim jeans, topped off with a black cloak.

Morag was enjoying friendship. She had not been embarrassed about her parents during her school days. She simply understood, from her first year, that they were anomalies. Their age precluded participation in many of the things the parents of students do that result in getting to know the other parents. They had outlived their capacity for watching a quidditch match from wooden bleachers, to take just one example. As Morag's consciousness grew she came to understand her parents' deaths were near. Her father died during Morag's fourth year. After her husband passed, Livia lived in seclusion. She kept up the cottage and the grounds right around it but didn't feel a need to go further afield.

Angus and one or two of Morag's other siblings stayed in touch. The age difference meant they had little or nothing in common, though, so they could converse as long as they were catching up. After that they didn't have the kind of shared interests necessary to keep the conversation going.

Morag understood she would have to make her own way, perhaps sooner than her contemporaries. She fixed on healing early and set about preparing for her post-Hogwarts training. Her seventh year was not very helpful but a little work with tutors got her into a program and she never looked back.

Pansy and Morag's lifelines intersected just when both were putting distracting challenges behind them and organizing a more settled life. Morag had suspended everything except caring for Livia after her mother's stroke. Pansy stood on a precipice facing a steep, downward glide to an early and tragic end when Harry offered her a hand. She did the work to set some things straight. She had a job and a flat.

Pansy and Morag each popped their heads out of their individual swamps and looked around about the same time. Most of their contemporaries had settled into some kind of permanent or relatively stable relationship. Morag knew nothing about dating because she had never had the time to discover what she thought about it. Pansy experienced chronic problematic outcomes when coping simultaneously with wizards and alcohol. Once she got out of her daily state of inebriation she was suddenly, oddly uninterested in pursuing physical intimacy with wizards.

When Morag arrived at Pansy's flat she threw her cloak back and met Pansy's semi-charge into her arms.

"Welcome back," said Pansy. "Cloak?"

"Here," said Morag, handing it over. She stepped over to the mat just inside the door and flipped off her shoes.

"Ahhhh…" she said, wiggling toes into Pansy's carpet.

"Something cold before dinner?" Pansy asked.

"Not unless you are," said Morag. "I'm ready to eat."

Their previous agreement was pasta, unspecified. Morag didn't see a pot on top of the range. The reason was revealed when Pansy took two small casseroles from the oven.

"Lasagna!" said Morag.

"Lasagna, garden salad and fresh baguette from the bakery down the street!" said Pansy as she slid the lasagna off her spatula and put the plate in front of Morag.

They took their time over their meal, catching up on their activities over the past forty-eight hours. There wasn't a lot of substance. They simply chatted between bites, two friends passing the time while they enjoyed one another's company.

Morag took her last bite of lasagna and laid her fork down. She looked at Pansy, at the far end of the table, while she chewed, then swallowed. Pansy looked back. Morag took a long drink from her water tumbler.

"You look good tonight," Morag said.

Pansy thought the same of Morag. Pansy didn't have a specific type of witch she favored romantically because she had never been in a romantic relationship with a witch before. She had gone through seven years of boarding school in a witches' dorm so she wasn't unfamiliar with the various configurations. She did like the way Morag looked, though. The blue silk blouse hung loose, except across Morag's chest. The denim trousers fit her well, following Morag's curves and making for a very harmonious picture.

"I was just think…kachk…kachk…" muttered Pansy. She turned red and couldn't go on. Pansy took another drink from her tumbler.

"Try again…I was just thinking…the same thing…about you," she managed to finish.

Pansy drew her wand and had the tableware in the sink in seconds.

"We need to talk," she said. Morag nodded.

They sat on the couch, facing one another, one arm each across the cushions. They let their other hands find one another and linked finger tips.

"I don't know anything about this," Morag began. "I think I told you that."

Pansy nodded.

"I went through a period, with wizards," said Pansy. She got that far and ran out of words.

"Difficult," Pansy managed.

"Don't talk about it," said Morag. "I can see it is hard for you."

"I don't know how, with witches," Pansy confessed.

"I don't know how, at all, if you mean actual practice. Although I did have to read about it when I was studying," Morag assured her.

"Oh, then," Pansy said, leaning forward. She touched her lips to Morag's before pulling back just enough to speak.

"We can't be disappointed if neither one of us knows good from bad, right from wrong."

Neither one thought the feeling of the other's lips on hers was bad, so they explored a bit before opening up a little more and a little deeper. Fingertips moved up to caress cheeks. They both liked that. Now and then a hand on a cheek would attract another hand. Sometimes the new hand would guide the one that was already there. Pansy's helped Morag's find a spot to rest, before Pansy's moved on to the buttons of Morag's silk shirt.

"Too fast?" Pansy asked when Morag gave a little shudder.

"No," said Morag. She drew back, unbuttoned and shrugged out of her silk blouse, which she tossed onto a nearby coffee table.

Nature hadn't scrimped when it made Morag. There was plenty of her and it was perfectly distributed, shaped and proportioned.

"Wow," Pansy breathed.

Morag eyed Pansy before standing and moving her a little closer to the well-upholstered arm at the end of the couch. She sat, then pivoted so she could lie down, using Pansy's leg for a pillow. Pansy used her nearest hand to cradle Morag's head leaving the other without a perch. Morag, sensing her dysfunction, took the free hand and placed it on her stomach.

"Feel free," she said. "It won't hurt anything. It feels nice, really. Were we going to talk?"

Pansy went over and over their talk all the next day. They had each described their lack of knowledge of witch-witch relations. Morag told Pansy she didn't doubt she would enjoy figuring out love with another witch. She had been developing feelings for Pansy throughout the time they'd been going out as friends. She couldn't stop thinking about their evening of dancing at the nearly-all-witch club. She had begun to dream of Pansy, the only identifiable person she had ever dreamed about.

"On the other hand," Morag said, "I'm enjoying myself. I'm a professional with a professional life in London and Glasgow. I couldn't establish myself after I entered practice. At least half of my time was devoted to Livia. Then there were close to three years with nothing besides Livia. Until you came to see me, of course. I am still grieving for my mother at the same time I've acquired new feelings for you and the professional and personal satisfaction that grew out of work and independent life. I never had those before."

Morag told Pansy she felt obliged to be completely honest before they went further.

"I had to tell you, everything, so you know. I'm not interested in exclusivity right now," said Morag. "I'm sorry."

Pansy was sorry too. She sat on the couch, Morag's head in her lap, a semi-undressed Morag stretched out before her.

"You're so beautiful," Pansy said.

"Thank-you," said Morag. "Do you understand?"

"I think so," said Pansy. "I want to get you out of the rest of those clothes. Do you understand? I tried with wizards and it never worked. I can be wrong but I think I know why. Now."

Pansy let her hand drift back and forth across Morag's front, from right beneath her breasts down to the waist band of her jeans, then back up again.

"I think I understand, too, Pansy," said Morag. "Would it be over-thinking if we took a day or two longer? I had to tell you. I haven't been able to focus on anything else since we left the club. It felt so good to hold you. You want something permanent, I think? Stability? Yes, perfectly understandable. I keep going back and forth, in my mind. Just a day or two, I promise. I may be a case of arrested development."

"No, you aren't," Pansy objected. "Yes, we'll stop here and catch our breaths. Do your thinking. I don't have any other attachments, so no lit fuses."

"So sweet of you," said Morag. "You have been nothing but kindness toward me since the day you showed up at Livia's. You're being kind and patient with me now and I promise I'll never forget it."

With that Morag stood and retrieved her blouse, then her shoes. She walked across the room to the floo where Pansy waited, holding Morag's cloak, gave her a last, quick kiss on the lips and stepped into the flames.

Pansy did not sleep well after Morag left. She began second-guessing herself. She might have been too pushy. On the other hand, perhaps Morag doubted Pansy's passion. Contradiction piled on contradiction. She drifted off and couldn't remember lying in bed awake for long periods the next morning but she didn't wake up rested, either. She felt fatigued and jumpy at the same time.

Pansy wanted to be angry with Morag but she discovered, to great frustration, she couldn't quite get there. Damn. Pansy knew what put the bump in their path. Morag was at one point in thinking and feeling her way to a physical and emotional connection with Pansy, and Pansy was at another. Everything felt backed up, like a torrent coming downhill was stuck behind a log jam right under Pansy's sternum. If the jam wouldn't give, Pansy thought she would have to explode.

"Work," Pansy thought. "Thank Merlin for work."

Books updated, Pansy went looking for something to do. Harry had gone for the day, pleading the need for a nap following his overnight adventure. Pansy knew what she needed: a good, long walk.

Pansy tried Hyde Park then apparated to a favorite path next to a canal. While good for visuals both were well-populated and Pansy decided she required solitude. She thought about Morag, bringing Livia to mind, and the lane that passed by Livia's cottage, just over the stile.

One disapparation later, Pansy stood in the lane, looking at the little house where she had first met Livia. She was glad there was no sign of Romilda. She turned her back to the cottage and struck out to follow the lane wherever it went. Pansy worked through her experiences with Morag, concluding that, strong feelings aside, they worked well together. At least they had not gotten into any serious disagreements since becoming reacquainted. Though she wanted more, Pansy valued Morag's friendship.

Pansy knew she wasn't a scholar, although she had a practical mind and enjoyed learning new things. Maybe she was cut out to be an Associate of Harry Potter. There were worse occupations. She was becoming more confident, taking on management responsibilities for Harry's newest commercial venture. Pansy, with her basic education, had feelings bordering on awe for Morag's accomplishments. She wondered if Morag doubted Pansy would be interesting after a year, or two, or five?

Pansy tried using a technique she had read about some years past. She used it when she encountered one of those defiant problems. She tried to let everything go out of her mind, retaining just enough consciousness to keep her wandering along her lane. The theory behind the method held the subconscious could work on her issues while Pansy enjoyed her pleasant country ramble.

Pansy topped a hill to find a very picturesque valley laid out in front of her. There was a village with just a handful of houses and one building that looked like a standard layout for municipal offices or a police station. It might have been both in such a sparsely-populated place. Pansy stood still, taking in the beauty of the scene—the village, the outlying farms, cattle and sheep in paddocks, a hedgerow. She faced west because the sun shone on her face about half-way between its zenith and the horizon. Pansy closed her eyes and let the sun warm her skin.

"Parkinson you bitch," Pansy heard.

"I know," she said out loud, even though there was no one near. "What have I been thinking?"

The solution had come to her all at once which was typical when a seeker stopped overworking things and let the mind-noise recede a little way.

Morag wasn't self-indulgent. She had her life experience and Pansy's was totally different. They weren't on a schedule. Pansy had fallen in love and was desperate for the object of her infatuation to tell her she felt the same. That certainly wasn't fair of Pansy. If she really loved Morag she would let her know while finding a way to make sure Morag knew she could take her time. With luck, they would both find out, eventually, that they were headed the same way, each by her own, idiosyncratic route.

Pansy took a few minutes to sit down on a flat rock and look at the little sample of Scotland visible from her hilltop. She consciously tried to memorize everything, so she could find her way back. Pansy felt good. Confident. She hoped Morag came around, but that might not be the most important thing.

"I love," she thought. "I love. I can and I do. I'm not broken. I'm not broken. Morag helped me find it. I have to tell her, even if she doesn't love me."

Pansy sniffed and felt some tears on her cheeks. She took a look around to make sure she was alone. Moments later she stood in the lane, unlocking the door with the lettering spelling out 'Harry Potter and Associates.'

The door charm rang as she entered the foyer.

"Harry?" Pansy called.

No one answered. Pansy figured Harry must be at home, enjoying his nap. She was glad she had put the ledgers in shape. Pansy had been trying to find the time for some letters of inquiry to potential suppliers for the little book and novelty shop next to the tea room. It never hurt to tweek the inventory, just to keep things fresh.

The door charm sounded again, followed this time by a familiar voice calling out, "It's me!"

"In here," said Pansy as she put down her quill, careful not to drop it and put a spot of ink on the parchment.

"Just letting you know," Harry said as he looked around the door jamb.

"How's it going?"

"Great," said Pansy, "Just great."

Something about her smile said there was more. Harry had his suspicions but he was a bit superstitious. Prying might throw off a delicate balance and spoil something. When Pansy had something to tell him, she'd do so.

"I mainly wanted to occupy the office, so I've brought some reading," Harry said, adding, "Unless you have something to show me?"

"Oh, sales are up and we're seeing a little wider margin," Pansy said. "You're doing a good deal better than breaking even with your tea room project."

"That's good, although it wasn't the purpose," Harry said.

"I know, I remember," said Pansy.

"Still, doesn't hurt," Harry said. "Do you think it will ever do more than sustain itself? I mean, cover the wages of your helpers and the administration? Would that model have the potential to support a person?"

Pansy didn't say anything. She sat, thinking, took in a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh.

"I don't know," Pansy said.

"I think that might be the same as saying No," said Harry. "No matter how many pots of tea you and your minions make in a day, there isn't a big enough profit potential per pot to fund much besides expenses."

"Oh, Harry, I'm sorry!" Pansy wailed. "This wasn't a good idea at all!"

"No, no, no, Pansy," said Harry, "That isn't what I mean. It's a great idea. We provide a service and your staff gets work experience. The foot traffic in and out is much better than empty spaces on the ground floor of the building. Next door, the books and whatnot, fills a need. There aren't any other magical businesses selling those things. All we need to do is get something going on the lower level, which we will."

"Oh," said Pansy. "Well, then."

"Exactly," said Harry.

"What did you bring to read?" Pansy asked.

Harry held up a book bound in black leather with gold Gothic lettering on the spine and front cover.

"A private edition of some Black family history," he said. "Not a grimoire, I assure you."

Pansy started to laugh. She'd had a momentary panicky feeling until Harry cleared things up.

"You have to understand…" Pansy began.

"I do, I do, believe me," said Harry. "I am very careful about the Blacks."

"I know you are, Harry," Pansy said. "The community is fortunate that signet is on your hand and not some others it could have gone to. Anything in particular you're trying to find?"

"Oh, something I stumbled on," Harry said. "It's kind of interesting. The Blacks once had a marshal, it seems. Lord Black would appoint someone Marshal of the Blacks. It started a long time ago, when all the big families were feuding with one another. I'm trying to find anything that says when we had one last."

"Okay, I'll leave you to it," Pansy said, muttering, "Marshal of the Blacks," as she walked across the foyer.

Harry read until it was time for Daphne to get home. Pansy had left after puttering around on her side for a bit. Harry looked around the office, didn't see anything that needed locking up, and left by the front door.

Kreacher seemed to sense the Potters didn't need a big dinner to top off their days. After finishing his salad, Harry asked Daphne if she had room for dessert.

"No," she said. She was already yawning.

"Neither do I," Harry said. He called Kreacher, thanked him for the light meal, which was exactly what he and Lady Daphne agreed they needed, and asked that the table be cleared.

"I think I'm going to read a bit," Harry said. He would have liked to read in bed but feared he would go straight to sleep, only to awaken at two or three in the morning and spoil his upcoming work day.

"Bath," said Daphne. "Maybe a short note or two, if I have the energy."

Harry was still reading the volume of Black family history, looking for any mention of the marshal position. Despite a valiant effort to stay up Harry found himself heading for the master bedroom a good deal earlier than he'd wanted. Even so, Daphne had given up on her note writing and was sound asleep when Harry got to their room.

In the morning, Harry wandered downstairs to a greeting of, "Hey, Sunshine!" He'd found Daphne in the kitchen, reading the Daily Prophet across a bowl of porridge.

"Anything good?" Harry asked as he accepted a mug of coffee from Kreacher.

"Not much," answered Daphne. "Lucius Malfoy's underground campaign of rehabilitation goes on. He donated to the Mortar and Pestle annual drive, enough to put him in the Patron Circle."

"What is that again?" asked Harry.

"The student literary review at Hogwarts," said Daphne.

"Oh," Harry said. "I didn't remember them having one."

"Well, WE did, and I worked on it," Daphne announced.

"Well, I kept getting sidetracked and missed out on a lot of that precious boarding school experience," said Harry. "Except for quidditch."

"I know," Daphne said. She smacked her lips, sending a kiss across the table to Harry. "And your name is on all kinds of hardware in the trophy case. Do you ever think about Mr. Filch supervising the lads as they polish your trophies? Didn't he make them do it all by hand, with no magical assistance?"

"So I heard," Harry said. "Ron allegedly had to do it that way one time, although he was such an accomplished slacker I have my doubts. So what's this about Lucius?"

"Lives a quiet life with the wife of many years, Hogwarts graduate son and your sister-in-law, one big happy family at Malfoy Manor. In other news he has been working quietly and assiduously to rehabilitate himself in the eyes of Magical Britain following his involvement in what we might call the wrong crowd. A little charity work, some strategic donations, those kinds of things."

"Got it," said Harry. "I'll trust you to keep an eye on it."

"Will you?" Daphne asked. "Care to expand on that?"

"Well, it would probably be unethical of you to engage your sister in casual conversation with an idea to letting her go on a bit and drop a little insight on her in-laws," said Harry. "On the other hand, you and Narcissa have some need to keep one another informed, on the need-to-know issues…"

"Harry Potter!" exclaimed Daphne. "Are you surveilling me and my friends?"

"No," answered Harry, "Although if that were the case you would have just given away the game. All I know is that I was summoned for a crash rescue and the one additional asset requested was Lady Narcissa Malfoy. You know about some previous interactions between us, because I, your husband, confessed or confided some details. If I had stopped to think I would have asked if Narcissa wasn't ineligible. Instead, she came running when asked by my elf and jumped through the portal with me. The portal to Our Place and that creepy castle/slum and all those strange, strange people. Now, to me, it appears you and Lady Narcissa have something going on to which I am not a party."

"Oh, is that all?" asked Daphne. "Of course, then, Narcissa and I talked and worked through a bit of baggage. We are in-laws now so we cleared the air. You guys can like each other but you won't be consummating any kind of physical relationship."

Harry looked across the table. He noticed his coffee cup was empty, picked it up and held it out, as far backward as he could reach. When he couldn't feel the cup he counted on that indicating Kreacher had taken over. Harry brought his hands together on the table, lacing his fingers together.

"What do you think her feelings are toward the Blacks? Did she say anything? Anything you feel comfortable divulging, obviously, nothing you feel constrained to hold in confidence."

Daphne sat still, studying Harry. Her face was a neutral mask but Harry could feel her body's tension, as if her muscles were right there under his own skin.

"That's an odd question but I don't think Narcissa would mind me quoting her," said Daphne. "We never really leave the Blacks behind."

"Oh," Harry said. "I like that. Of course she's married to Lucius and we don't have any claim on her. Still, she eagerly volunteered to run off to the Alps to see what her friend, Lady Black needed."

They sat there, each looking back at the other. Neither wanted to give up anything more. Both waited patiently for their spouse to ramble on.


	45. Chapter 45

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Forty-five

Ties That Bind

Pansy's evening had gone much better than her workday.

She had been home less than an hour when Morag knocked on her door. Their greeting formalities went well, considering the fact that Morag had to shed her cloak while she was in a clinch with Pansy, cheeks pressed together, with Pansy's right arm like a vise around Morag's waist.

"Sit down," Pansy ordered as she hung up the cloak.

Two fresh cups of coffee sat on the coffee table. Pansy sat, primly, with her hands in her lap, keeping a little distance between them.

"I have something to tell you," Pansy began. "First, I'm sorry if I was too pushy. I know you are still putting your life together and grieving for Livia. You don't need more piled on top of that."

"No, Pansy, no," said Morag. "You've put yourself out for me, from your first visit! I wouldn't have gotten through losing Mum without you, not to mention Daphne, Harry, Blaise and everyone else you brought in. I really needed someone and you came through."

"Still, you get to drive," said Pansy. "I took a long walk yesterday. To think. I got clear about a number of things. We can go on, as fast or as slowly as you like. I know what I want from a relationship, now. At least I think I do. You can decide if you want to try that with me. And, then…"

Pansy let out a long sigh. She looked away from Morag, took a deep breath and drew on her courage.

"I love you, Morag. Without a doubt, you have my heart. Everything about you…"

Morag moved first, opening her arms, her eyes inviting Pansy into her embrace. Pansy barely got her arms around Morag when she heard the first sniff.

Their conversation wasn't very profound after that, except for the two parties sitting on a couch, squeezing and rocking and affirming that they were mutually in love. Serious minutes passed before they finished. Pansy slid back to her end of the sofa, settled and looked at Morag.

"Do you need anything to eat, or drink?" Pansy asked.

"No," Morag said with a little laugh. "You?"

Pansy shook her head. They each stared into the other's eyes while they waited to feel it was time, then stood together, each one holding out her hand. Morag squeezed Panys's hand, hard, letting Pansy lead the way down the hallway of the flat. Morag stopped just inside the threshold of Pansy's bedroom, a little smile of surprise on her face. The linens sparkled, the pillows were fluffed and the bed covers were neatly turned down.

"Nice!" said Morag.

"I thought, just in case…" said Pansy.

"So sweet. I'm flattered," laughed Morag.

Neither of them had gone exploring with another witch at Hogwarts so they didn't know quite what to do, or what to expect the other to do. Holding, kissing and touching all felt good, though, so they enjoyed those while they exchanged expressions of love and affection. Pansy didn't know why, other than instinct, but when she felt the need to wiggle into a slight position adjustment she did it just right and Nature's perfect design clicked into place.

"Ohh," Morag groaned. "Ohhhh…PANSY!"

"Yes, Baby, yes, right there, just like that," Pansy whispered as she studied Morag's face, looking for the sign that she had found her lover's rhythm.

It was still early, a few minutes past eight, when they agreed they could eat something. They decided on the Dragon, for sentimental reasons, Pansy having the foresight to negotiate in advance something beyond spring rolls.

Pansy normally went directly to the tea room at the beginning of her work day, leaving the opening of business at Potter and Associates to Harry. When he arrived the next day, Harry took a small piece of parchment, wrote a note saying, 'Back Soon,' which he hung on the door with a little sticking charm and left, walking over to the Leaky Cauldron to see if he could entice Neville Longbottom into a conversation.

The breakfast rush over, Hannah actually used 'shoo' to send Neville forth for some socializing.

"Coffee?" Harry asked as they stepped out into Diagon Alley.

"Always ready for coffee," answered Neville. "You do know we have it back there?"

"True, but then I'd have to offer to pay and you'd be in a spot," Harry said. "Besides, Kreacher needs the exercise."

They walked on toward Potter and Associates, enjoying the sunshine and the kaleidoscope of magical folks' comings and goings on their magical high street.

"Anything in particular?" Neville asked as they leaned back in their chairs and sipped away.

"Yep," said Harry. "Do the Longbottoms have a marshal?"

Neville nearly choked.

"What…what brought this on? We do, as a matter of fact, but that is quite the piece of magical trivia, Harry."

"Oh, well, that's great," Harry said. "Who is your marshal these days?"

Neville held his mug in both hands, looking at his friend, wondering where Harry was going.

"Harry, if there is something wrong between our families, just tell me now, and I promise we will work it out to your satisfaction," said Neville.

"What? Neville, who said anything about something wrong? We're allied, last time I looked," Harry replied. "What gave you the idea there was something wrong?"

"Harry, I'm the Marshal of the Longbottoms, and when a marshal is invited over for a little hospitality and gets queries along the lines you're pursuing, out of the blue, one starts wondering if the other party is delivering bad news. See?" asked Neville.

"NO, not at all," Harry exclaimed. "I can see I haven't handled this well, not by a longshot. How'd you get to be the Marshal of the Longbottoms, anyway? If that is something I'm allowed to ask."

"So we're good? No beefs?" asked Neville.

"Of course," said Harry.

"Sure, okay," Neville said. "I'm the marshal because there wasn't anyone else. I have been since I was fifteen. Gran had to hold everything together after the parents were hospitalized, so we had a few years there when we were really exposed. When I turned fifteen I was eligible and Gran did the investiture ritual before we went back to Hogwarts. She didn't want to spread the word too widely because it was obvious by then that we were in the runup to another war and the old Death Eaters were starting to act out again."

"I never knew," Harry said, shaking his head.

"We know your magical education has some holes, Harry. We're all happy to help."

"Thank-you, Neville," Harry said. "I'm very appreciative, as always. By way of explanation, I was reading some Black family history and came across a reference to someone being a marshal. That sounded interesting so I kept reading and discovered they were the Marshal of the Blacks. It appears that was typical for families back then. The chief would appoint a marshal who would do some ceremonial stuff and generally assist in the family administration. They got more of a workout if things came to real violence."

"Well said, you've done your homework," said Neville. "You have all of the basics right there. There were sound reasons for Gran appointing me. Dad, Frank, was incapacitated and confined to the ward at St. Mungo's. Gran was effectively the head of the family, with no allies near at hand. Once I was appointed marshal I was treated as an adult, legally, if called upon to defend family and property. Of course, it goes without saying I was fair game if the other side targeted the Longbottoms."

"Luckily for our side…" Harry began.

"Damn right!" said Neville. "Why do you think I stuck so close to you all of fifth year? We didn't take the time to think it through and discuss it thoroughly but I was probably better off staring down Bellatrix, standing next to you, than I would have been back at Hogwarts."

"Nagini," Harry observed.

Neville nodded.

"That one was unfortunate," he said. "She was beautiful, as a woman. I've seen the old post cards, from the circus. Then when she couldn't transform back, the only one who treated her with anything close to kindness was Riddle."

"I know. Wish we could make amends to her. Even if she did try to kill us all. Thanks again, for handling that," Harry said.

"What are you thinking about, in regard to the marshal?" asked Neville. "You have two positions, it would seem. Are you sure you don't have at least one incumbent?"

"I have a candidate in mind, for the Blacks," Harry said. "We don't have one and it's within my purview to appoint another when required. Narcissa Malfoy was Narcissa Black. She and Daphne get along. Narcissa isn't afraid to speak her mind and she knows all the old-time Black lore. When we aren't fighting, she could be really helpful when we have to throw a dinner or similar. Daphne works a lot. She knows entertaining and protocol, too, but I thought she might appreciate a little help."

Neville paused to observe Harry, once more.

"And?" Neville said.

"And, what?" answered Harry. "You don't think that is a good idea?"

"As far as it goes," said Neville. "Or possibly, as far as you've gone."

Harry took a moment, along with another pull on his coffee mug.

"And?" Neville asked, again.

"Lucius," sighed Harry. "For a convicted war criminal, he is showing signs of continued interest in public life. He's into some do-gooder stuff, widows and orphans, donations to student literary journals, that sort of thing. We're semi-related now, with Draco, and me, married to the Greengrass sisters. I can't go do my own oversight. That would get really complicated. It would probably blow up in my face, if not Daphne's as well. On the other hand, Daphne and Narcissa have some kind of chemistry. They speak one another's language. Sorry, that is vague, I know, but I can't think of another way to describe it. If I appoint Narcissa Marshal of the Blacks, in recognition of services rendered to Lady Black, then she will hold an office outside of the Malfoys. That might be just the thing. It could keep Lucius focused on the sunny uplands and the delights thereof. Just a little reminder wrapped in some family warmth for Narcissa. I'd hate for him to revert."

Neville started laughing before Harry finished talking.

"I knew there had to be more. That is brilliant, Harry!" Neville said. "You give her a little ceremonial position…"

"Keeping her grounded in the bosom of her birth family," said Harry.

"Which is now headed by you…"

"Got the house, got the title…" Harry ticked off his talking points. "Got the right to make appointments to vacant positions."

"Then Daphne goes to Malfoy Manor once or twice a month," Neville went on. "Chats up Astoria, Narcissa puts out the teapot and scones, the three of them sit down in the parlor and talk witch-talk, maybe touch on a Black family issue or two…And no sign of Harry Potter!"

"Well, yeah, right along those lines," said Harry. "I'm not even there. What do you think? Got an opinion?"

"Yeah, do it!" exclaimed Neville. "You're an old-time clan chief, Harry. One of the smart ones. Gran loves to tell me stories about the old days, when she was a girl and on into her twenties, and there are always people like you in them. Wizards who didn't stop with _wingardium leviosa_. They kept working on their magic but they knew how to raise their whole family up and keep it there. That takes more than belligerence, not that I'd call you belligerent, just because you've got plenty of fighting spirit. That takes a certain kind of intelligence. Guile, maybe, would be the word. I'm all for it."

"Good," Harry said. "I have to talk it over with Daphne, though. Wouldn't do to spring this on her. Can I count on your discretion? Just until I talk to Daphne."

"Certainly," said Neville. He put his coffee mug on Harry's desk and stood, extending his hand.

"Thanks, Neville," Harry said. "I appreciate your counsel, and candor."

"I owe you," said Neville. "That's the least I can do."

Harry and Neville were standing outside the front door when a delivery person arrived with a big bouquet of cut flowers. Harry accepted the flowers, found he didn't have any coins handy and was pleased when Neville lent him five sickels for a tip.

"Pansy" said the little envelope. Harry looked on the back and found the flap bore the stamp of the St. Mungo's gift shop.

"Ah-ha!" he said, smiling. "Pansy has acquired an admirer."

"Good for her," said Neville. "She's good people."

"Kreacher now has an errand," said Harry. "See you later."

"Anytime. Just let me know," said Neville.

Once back inside, Harry summoned Kreacher and asked him to get a vase and fill it with water. He put the combination in the precise middle of Pansy's desk and went back to his reading.

Pansy arrived just after one. She called out a greeting from the foyer and went straight to her office. Harry interrupted his reading, not seeing any point in improvising a pantomime. Moments later Pansy stood on the threshold of his office, hands on hips.

"Who brought those?" she demanded.

"Delivery," said Harry. "Never saw them before."

"What did you see? Did you read the card?"

"Of course not," Harry said. "It was in an envelope."

Pansy looked less skeptical for the explanation.

"I did see the stamp, from the gift shop, on the envelope," said Harry. "I drew no conclusions."

"Boss, you are a good citizen," Pansy declared.

"Don't worry, Pansy, for Pete's sake," said Harry. "You're entitled to a personal life, same as anyone. Want to leave it there?"

"Oh," said Pansy as she turned and left. She had prepared herself for some prying, preparation that was now useless.

In less than a minute she was back, a big grin on her face.

"I'M SEEING SOMEONE!" she shouted from the doorway before turning around and leaving again.

Harry's main goal for the day had been to speak to Neville, which he had accomplished before noon. With Pansy occupying the office there wasn't anything keeping Harry in London so he cleaned off his desk and told her he was going.

"We'll be in the country," he said. "Give us a floo call if anything comes up. I'll set the wards."

The weather was pleasant when Daphne joined Harry at Potter Manor, later that afternoon. Harry suggested a stroll around the gardens.

"I'm going to propose something," Harry said. "I'd like to get your perspective. Okay?"

"Go," said Daphne.

"I can make appointments," Harry began, "To jobs. Family jobs. Like Cyrus can, if he wanted to."

"Uh-huh," Daphne agreed, her curiosity aroused.

"Noble houses can have a marshal," said Harry.

"I've heard of that," said Daphne. "You want one?"

"I want to appoint Narcissa," Harry said. "I want to offer her the position of Marshal of the Blacks."

Daphne walked along, silent, turning over Harry's comments.

"Why?" she asked.

"The piece you read at breakfast, about Lucius," said Harry. "We need to reward Narcissa for her loyalty, especially since Our Place. You made me think about Lucius. It wouldn't hurt for him to have a little encouragement to stay on the right path. He has been in and out of Dark circles since he was a schoolboy. We clashed once or twice, you'll recall."

"To his chagrin," Daphne said.

"Every time," Harry agreed. "It's not that I want direct oversight, although I would not be surprised to find he was involved in yet another underground conspiracy of some kind. It might be enough, were there a permanent reminder that Lucius should consider the consequences before going off on unproductive paths."

"And Narcissa?" asked a puzzled Daphne.

"As Marshal of the Blacks, she does a little ceremonial task once or twice a year," Harry explained. "She isn't working for Harry Potter, she's a Black, doing something for her birth family. I could send them a Potter and Associates wall calendar at the holidays, I suppose. I just think this is more subtle. Something for him to consider while he's waiting to go to sleep at night."

Daphne walked along, quietly, for a little while, then the snickers began.

"You like it?" Harry asked.

Daphne left snickers behind and laughed, a genuine heart-felt laugh.

"Do you think it is diabolical enough?" Harry pressed on. "Sufficient misdirection built in to obscure the real purpose?"

"Oh, Harry, yes, it's diabolical enough," said Daphne. "Even if he deciphers your intent, Lucius will have to go along to keep Narcissa happy."

"You'll still be a presence, of course," said Harry. "The primary one, certainly. Astoria's sister, lots of contact with Draco. It's all mutually-reinforcing."

"Oh, ye-ahh, and Harry Potter nowhere to be seen!" Daphne said, getting with the spirit of the occasion.

"So do you think you can do some tentative contact? It would be better. If we invited everyone to dinner and I just announced the appointment she might decline," said Harry. "That would spoil the ceremony, wouldn't it?"

"Wouldn't want that, no sir," said Daphne. "What ceremony?"

"Well, Narcissa would be accepting a position of authority and responsibility," said Harry. "A proper investiture seems indicated. There is even a badge of office."

"Where did you get all of this?" asked Daphne.

"I'll show you," said Harry. "In here."

They had arrived at the front door so Harry led the way to the salon with all the ancestral portraits. The book of Black history sat on a table at one end of a leather-covered sofa.

"Here," Harry said when he'd found the page he wanted.

"Oh," said Daphne as she scanned the first page. "Marshal of the Blacks…onyx…rank…"

She read, thoroughly, then looked up and stared at her husband. He really was going to do it. He was going to appoint his distant cousin the Marshal of the Blacks. It was a pre-emptive move that would fence in an old enemy who would find himself within a triangular paddock, one side comprising his son and Harry's sister-in-law, one side his wife's ally, Daphne Greengrass Potter, and the third side his wife, born a Black and wearing the onyx and silk rosette declaring her Marshal of the Blacks. Harry Potter, the accidental Lord Black, would honor his cousin with a chivalric relic, a bit of silk and a black stone, and plant an ally in Lucius' bedroom. Of course there would be no move, overt or otherwise, on Lucius or any of his prerogatives. Lucius and Narcissa would even be elevated a few notches on the graph of social standing among the magical society of Britain.

"It really is true, we do catch more flies with honey than we do with vinegar," Harry said. "Think about how you're going to present your case to Narcissa. Dinner?"

Harry stood up and offered Daphne his hand.


	46. Chapter 46

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Forty-six

Dabble in Divination

Harry went about his business over the next few days, leaving the initial approach to Daphne. She'd shown to Harry's complete satisfaction that she had excellent rapport with Narcissa, not to mention an instinct for timing. Harry and Daphne were having dinner at Potter Manor two weeks later when Daphne announced she had spoken to Narcissa.

"She said, 'Of course,' when I asked," said Daphne. "She sounded really eager to get started."

"Great," said Harry. "You did mention it doesn't pay anything? At least to start."

"Not a problem," Daphne assured her husband. "Narcissa brought that up herself. The optics, you know. Lucius could seize on material recompense as an indication of divided loyalty. Narcissa seemed really pleased when I complimented her on the strategic insight."

Harry pushed a bit of mashed potato next to a piece of meatloaf while pondering 'strategic insight.'

"We'll go ahead then," Harry said once he'd broken out of his reverie. "And there are no formal duties, she's aware? In my mind I thought you might want a little help with an event now and then, with your demanding career. Dinner, here or London?"

Harry got his fork under his meatloaf-and-potato blend and brought it up.

"Oh, I think here," said Daphne. "Drinks on the lawn in some candlelight, weather permitting. Dinner right here. Madam and the lads looking down on the dining room. Investiture as soon as the main course is cleared, then coffee and dessert in the salon with the Old Ones in attendance."

"Perfect," said Harry.

The Black history book did not have photographs but there was a good description of the marshal's badge. Harry did a cursory look in the chaos of the Black vaults but didn't find a badge. He drew a pencil sketch and took it to a magical jeweler and commissioned a new one. The design was quite simple. The onyx in the center was not a problem as they are abundant and come in all kinds of shapes and sizes. Finding a source for the silk rosette actually took more time than the onyx.

The weather was cooperative on the designated evening. The plan Daphne had outlined did not require any last-minute adjustments. They had invited a mixed bag of witches and wizards, some family, some from other Black-connected noble families. Daphne kept an eye on Cordelia during the candlelit cocktail hour but her mother was enjoying sobriety. Cyrus always seemed to have a glass in hand but Daphne thought it might have been the same one throughout.

Daphne had taken care and primed the pump with Lucius, just to make sure he had positive feelings about Narcissa's acceptance of a Black family honor. She stressed Narcissa's skills as she dealt with the Bergs and Mendinis. Narcissa, she told him, had a fine, diplomatic touch. She exuded complete mastery during their Alpine encounter. Narcissa graciously offered forbearance while letting the other party see she backed it up with the threat of overwhelming force, should her adversaries not see things her way.

Lucius puffed up, several times, during their conversation, so pleased to hear Daphne's description of his noble wife's power, grace and expertise.

As soon as Kreacher had the dinner table clear, Harry stood up and asked for everyone's attention.

"The Black family possesses a long and illustrious history, at the heart of Magical Britain," he began. Harry glossed over the Blacks' more divisive stances, graciousness winning out over historical accuracy.

"During the family's most stressful moments, we had a source of strength…" Harry continued.

"The marshal is the indispensable officer. The rock, the anchor that holds. Most recently, Lady Black met a crisis, not one of her own devising, something thrust on us from outside both the family and the country. Discretion is necessary so I regret the teaser but I can't go any further. Daphne asked for one person to assist, Lady Narcissa. Our cousin proved beyond a doubt she is the consensus choice for marshal. Narcissa, will you accept, before these witnesses, the badge and duties of the office of Marshal of the Blacks?"

"I will," Narcissa managed.

The rosette was at hand, lying on a maroon velvet cushion on a nearby buffet. Daphne, Lady Black, had the duty of pinning the rosette to Narcissa's formal robe. The ceremony concluded, Kreacher supplied champagne, or ginger ale, to the assembled and a number of toasts were drunk. Walburga looked down on the dining room, seeming fit to climb out of her portrait and join the festivities.

Once the party moved from the dining room, Narcissa stood, smiled and accepted the huzzahs and congratulations of the portraits in the salon as Lucius, sipping his coffee, looked on with pride. Draco and Astoria chatted up Pansy and Morag, who were making their first social foray as a couple. Harry stood alone next to Dorea's portrait.

"What does it all mean, Lord Potter-Black?" muttered his great-grandmother. "Are you going to war?"

"We can't tell," Harry replied. "I hope not. The Selwyns, though, haven't made any gestures, of any kind. The Bergs and Mendinis must still be up in Our Place, talking amongst themselves, so we might be able to make peace with them. It's the Selwyns that have me worried."

"Where's young Laurent?" asked Dorea.

"Haven't heard," said Harry. "We've kept our ears open, of course. The people I trust, the ones who know how to listen and not blab, none of them have heard anything either. We may have to wait and see."

"Laurent is a loose thread," said Dorea. "Hmm…he might not be a player now, considering where you last saw him. The Selwyns can work that out with Our Place. Nothing you had anything to do with. What about the insult to the family? Has anyone made any noise about that, other than young Laurent?"

"Not to us," said Harry. "At this point I couldn't say, one way or the other, if the Selwyns are aware Laurent was out of bounds or not. If he was acting alone our involvement could escape notice. It might not be a factor."

"Then there is the unknown," said Dorea. "X. The threat you don't foresee."

"Darn that X threat," agreed Harry.

Dorea snickered.

"You've got it well in hand, Lord Harry," she said. "No one can ever see X coming. That's just its nature. Keep your allies close, and informed. Make new ones when you can. Watch the Selwyns. The Laurent problem could come back."

"You're the best counselor ever, Grandmother Dorea," said Harry. "And here is my valued colleague, and friend!"

Pansy and Morag walked up. Pansy knew Dorea and gave the portrait a little nod in greeting.

"Come to take our leave," said Pansy. She dropped her arm out from under Morag's and pulled Harry into a quick hug. When Pansy let him go Morag extended her hand.

"Thank you for inviting me," said Morag. "I didn't know we'd be included in something like this."

"How could we not?" Harry asked. "Pansy gets to pick who she wants, same as we all do. There's room for you. How are you going?"

"Out to the lawn," said Pansy. "The weather is lovely and we'll avoid the soot in the floo system."

"Oh, well, then…" said Harry, waving the way forward. "Let me walk you out."

Once outside they could stroll three abreast.

"Anyone who wants to share ignorant opinions, any kind at all, you can let me know," said Harry to the other two.

"Oh," said Morag, a big smile on her face. "Thanks. Let's hope it doesn't get to that."

"Wouldn't that be nice?" asked Harry.

Pansy and Morag left with a definite crack suitable for the two formidable personalities. Harry turned for the house to see that Lucius had wandered out onto the front steps.

"Wanted to thank you personally, Harry," Lucius said as Harry walked up. Lucius stuck out his hand, which Harry took.

"She earned it," Harry said. "Daphne is especially grateful. It meant a lot to her that Narcissa was ready to come help out in the middle of the night. Me, too, of course. We had to recognize her somehow. With something special, beyond the standard fruit basket."

"You've done that, certainly," said Lucius. "Narcissa enjoyed the excursion. Hope she doesn't become too insufferable."

"Doubt she'll do that, Lucius," Harry said. "Although, you can always let Daphne know and they can discuss things, witch to witch."

Harry's comment brought a quick guffaw from Lucius.

"What's so funny?" asked Draco, who'd just stepped out onto the steps.

"Your classmate, Lord Harry," said Lucius. "He's under the delusion that he can speak for his wife, the witch Lady Daphne."

"Forget it Harry," Draco said. "Not a good use of your time."

Draco turned to his father.

"About ready?" he asked. "Mother and Astoria are fidgeting."

The good-byes and congratulations inside took another half-hour, confirming that the Malfoy witches' fidgeting had arrived right on time. Hannah and Neville left via floo, whittling the remaining guests down to Cyrus and Cordelia.

"Coffee?" Harry asked. "Tea? Another dish of ice cream?"

Daphne's parents decided they would accept another cup of tea. The four got comfortable, Daphne and Cordelia sliding out of their shoes.

"Lovely dinner, dear," said Cordelia. "You, too, of course, Harry. Where did you get the idea to appoint a marshal?"

"Didn't Daphne tell you?" asked Harry. "I was reading a volume of Black family history and stumbled across it. Something just mentioned in passing. It sounded interesting so I looked for more information and discovered it used to be common. All the prominent families used to have a marshal. Maybe that is too broad. The ones in public life who had a variety of interests and stuck together. There might have been some who didn't. Daphne?"

"I think that's right," Daphne said. "It wasn't a requirement. Narcissa loves it, and the badge, you should know."

"Good!" Harry said. "It's my first design for a decoration."

The small talk continued. The Potters were a bit guarded. The expedition to Our Place was still fresh in their minds. They had agreed that no purpose would be served by telling the story of their encounter with the Berg-Mendinis. Harry listened carefully for any mention, even an allusion, to the Selwyns and the failed negotiations. If Cyrus knew anything or had been in contact, though, he was keeping it to himself. The energy went out of the conversation when Cordelia took her last sip of tea and put the cup and saucer on the side table.

"Cyrus," she said as she turned to look at her husband.

"I know, it's time," said Cyrus as he stood up and offered his arm to his wife. "What a lovely evening. Thank you for including us."

The Greengrass' also chose to leave from the front lawn. Harry and Daphne walked out and watched them disapparate. Back inside, Harry waited for the front door to close itself, which it did, letting go of a very good imitation yawn as the bolt shot home.

"We're in for the night," Harry told the door, leaving it to set its own locking and warding spells.

"Did you make that?" Daphne asked. "The door?"

"Came with the place," said Harry. "It might not be a bad idea to see if we have any information on it. There could be some historical significance."

"Sure," Daphne said. "Nobody we know has one like it. I've been looking since the time you first brought me here."

"Oh. Must be an artifact of family magic, plain and simple. I think I'll read a little bit," said Harry. "Care to sit up?"

"Okay, but not for long," Daphne said, following Harry into the little study next to the salon.

"Anything in particular?"

"The Potter grimoire," answered Harry. He opened a desk drawer and removed a black velvet bag, placing it on the desk.

"Specifically, anything related to these."

Harry removed the bag and put it aside, revealing a crystal ball on a bronze stand.

"Grandmother Dorea asked a couple of probing questions tonight and started me thinking. This is from the Potter vault. I saw one in the Blacks' when I went to look for a marshal's badge," said Harry. "Divination was never important to me, as a student. Necessity dictated I get better at defending myself after the future caught up to me, if you can make sense of that."

Daphne broke out laughing at Harry's broken syntax.

"Of course," Daphne said. "Then you're past the point of looking into future danger, aren't you? It's just danger."

Harry smiled and nodded.

"It appears the Potters and the Blacks both had house seers at some point," Harry went on, "That, or they won these at the fete. My current project is to go through the grimoires looking for information including how to use these, if that is written down. I'll stay alert for any cautionary notes, of course."

"Naturally," Daphne agreed, vowing to herself to double-check her husband's alertness regularly. "Okay, so hand me a volume and I'll give you some minutes. Not too many, I'm in the office tomorrow."

Neither of them found encyclopedic instructions for the employment of crystal balls, nor did they expect to. Magical research was seldom five minutes of reading followed by a 'Eureka!' moment. Study of multiple volumes and the slow teasing-out of facts from florid descriptions and intentional red herrings was much more typical. The search was part of the fun for both of them. A rough division of labor emerged. Daphne handled the Greengrass grimoire, passing it to Harry if she thought he could safely and profitably read a passage, and Harry did the same with the Potters.' Harry kept the Blacks' to himself, for the most part, at least until he was certain the volume would not object to Daphne reading a specific chapter.

Their knowledge grew, slowly. Harry began to get a tiny affinity for the crystal balls and their powers. Mental state was the most important determinant of success. Properly prepared, the mind could reach through the crystal and feel around. Visions were rare. Focus on a question worked best. A calm, focused mind could gauge the potential for various outcomes. The quality of the experience depended on the seer's mental state. Now and then he would get a little insight into something.

Life went on through the next few weeks. Daphne and Morag managed ten minutes for tea at St. Mungo's. Daphne tried to insert the idea that Morag might want to think about London as a full-time proposition. The truth was Daphne had begun to feel a bit worn, working at both her private practice and twenty hours of emergency work at the hospital. She viewed recruiting another healer for full-time work at St. Mungo's as a win all 'round.

Harry and Pansy found an herbalist couple, through Neville, and got them settled in the basement level of the new building. Traffic picked up in the tea room. Harry and Pansy both thought that was a synergetic phenomenon, the herbalists bringing customers who then treated themselves to a tea break, or tea-drinkers who remembered they had meant to pick up some fresh oregano, so as long as the herbalists were right downstairs…

Harry was at the office, a small crystal ball on his desk blotter and a volume of the Potter grimoire open in front of him, when the doorbell spell sounded. Witches' voices carried on for a minute or two and Harry was about to get up and see what was going on when someone knocked on his door.

"Come in," Harry said as he moved the crystal ball onto a small pile of papers. He theorized it looked like a paperweight.

"Look who's here!" said a very bubbly Pansy Parkinson as she opened Harry's office door.

A witch walked in with what was obviously a well-swaddled baby in her arms, and with a backwards snap of her head, threw the cowl of her robe back.

"Romilda! And, ahh, child!" said Harry as he got to his feet. "Come in, have a seat. What are you doing in London? Time for tea, coffee, anything at all?"

"Glass of water?" asked Romilda. She sat down on a guest chair and propped a near-toddler upright on her lap.

Harry and Kreacher had her fixed up in no time.

"We heard you had the baby, but I don't know if I ever heard if it was a boy or a girl," Harry began.

"He did, Romilda, he just didn't remember," said Pansy. "Wizard, you know. We never got a name, though, that I can recall."

"I didn't go to the Registrar right away, did Morag tell you that much? I needed to think it through. Angus was so kind and sensitive. He had some kind of business once or twice a week that brought him close to Livia's so he'd always check on me. Knock on the door, ask if everything was going well, and leave. Well, I was having a hard time with naming and I kind of explored whether I could just give him a local name. Angus gave me some good advice. He pointed out that could be seen as fraudulent. He suggested, if I wanted to avoid naming him Berg, there weren't a lot of Vanes around there so it was doubtful the Bergs would find us through James…"

"Excuse me," Harry said, interrupting the story. "James?"

"Yes, I took the liberty," said Romilda. "Isn't your middle name James? I had to recognize you somehow, after all the help you gave us. He's James Parkinson Vane."

Harry and Pansy each looked at the other and shrugged.

"Congratulations, Romilda, and best wishes from Potter and Associates," said Harry. "What next? If you can tell us without blowing up all of your security measures."

"The MacDougal family is being very generous," Romilda said. "Livia's cottage is adequate for the two of us and the rent is affordable. I have to be careful but we will be fine for now. Any more trouble here?"

Harry had not gone into a lot of detail with Pansy about the adventure at Our Place. She was aware something must have gone on to earn Narcissa the appointment as Marshal of the Blacks. Harry thought he was doing no worse than telling a half-truth when he answered 'No.' Technically, the trouble with the Berg-Mendini clan had all been in the Alps, so in actuality there hadn't been any trouble at all in London.

"Have you seen anyone? Anyone you recognized, that is?" Harry asked.

"No," said Romilda. "Of course, I don't see much of anyone, unless I have to buy food or something. Then I go to the village and stay away from Glasgow."

"That's great, Romilda," said Harry. "Let's hope it stays this way."

"Uh-huh," Pansy agreed.

Romilda stood up and got young James' weight shifted around for carrying.

"Better get on back," she said.

"Got anything to take? I can help you," said Pansy.

"No, this was just a Gringotts stop," Romilda said. "I'll be sure and ask for a little help in advance if we need to come down for serious shopping. Thank-you both, again, for everything you've done for us."

Farewells over and Romilda gone, Harry asked Pansy to sit down.

"Are you alright with James Parkinson? Is that fine with you?" he asked.

"I guess so," Pansy said. "I don't see what harm it would cause. Are you good with James?"

"Cute little guy like that? Sure. I'm the same as you," Harry said. "She could have asked, though."

"Sure could have," Pansy observed.

"Do you think we're getting the whole story, now?" asked Harry.

Pansy snorted.

"I haven't thought we were getting it all since the evening she showed up here at the office and it was obvious she hadn't given me the whole story there in Fortescue's," she said. "Romilda is a survivor, though, you have to give her that. Maybe she rations information. Merlin! She was sixteen when she went off to be that old man's wife! No one to help her ease into being an adult witch, no girlfriends, no mother, no allies. I'd say she's done pretty well, considering."

Harry and Pansy had both gone through their own trials after the end of the Second Wizarding War, trials with considerable overlap. They were very accommodating between themselves, a kind of two-person mutual aid support group. They even started to laugh at Pansy's assessment of Romilda at almost the same moment.

"Yes," said Harry, "I agree, she has done pretty well, so far. Can you, discreetly, you know…"

"Not really keep an eye on her, as such, just be alert?" asked Pansy.

"Exactly," said Harry. He picked up his crystal ball, fiddling.

"Learning to use the Orb?" asked Pansy.

"This old paperweight?" Harry asked in return.

"Harry—"

"Oh, okay, you got me," Harry acknowledged. "I never could do any of those divination things—crystal balls, tea leaves, star charts. It's just a project, to see if I have any aptitude. So far, other than enjoying the aesthetics, I haven't really gotten much out of it. You?"

"Oh, I like to think…" Pansy said as she reached across the desk. She pulled the ball and its stand to her. "Let's see. The orb does know."

Pansy let her eyelids get close together.

"It does know, but will it share?"

Pansy let her hands drift back and forth in caressing motions but it didn't appear she was touching the instrument.

"Weather mild and sunny for the next few days," Pansy said. She looked up. "Sorry, that's not very helpful, is it?"

"You're sure? Mild and sunny? That would be very favorable for all kinds of outdoor activities," said Harry. "Sure?"

"Harry, the Orb knows what it knows and shares what it shares," said Pansy. "It's as much mystical as it is magical."

Harry thought that was one of those comments whose meaning would evolve and develop for as long as it held his attention.

"I think I'll take advantage of the sunshine," Harry said as he stood. "Mr. Longbottom is due a report on some recent business activities."

"Enjoy," said Pansy, knowing Harry was off to the Leaky Cauldron for a butterbeer and some cronyism. "Mind?"

Pansy was holding up the little crystal ball.

"Feel free," said Harry, giving Pansy a wave as he left.


	47. Chapter 47

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Forty-seven

Some New Possibilities

Harry became very protective of Daphne as a result of the Selwyn abduction and their adventure in the Alps. Both were pleased with the outcome. They both knew so much could have gone disastrously wrong. Harry thought Daphne's escape from her restraints and use of Iolanthe's portal showed extraordinary mastery of magical technique. He also acknowledged her cool-headedness in stopping him from mounting an impetuous, cavalry-like dash through the portal. The addition of Narcissa Malfoy was by itself a cautionary note for the Berg-Mendini's to contemplate.

On the other hand, the surprise attack, when Daphne was in a vulnerable position, showed how a semi-competent wizard with just a little help from Lady Luck might do serious damage to the Potters. Harry tried insisting he accompany Daphne to and from St. Mungo's. Daphne didn't argue but she did glare at Harry until he abandoned his position. Harry began waking up early on the mornings when Daphne would be returning home from an overnight shift. It wasn't anything he planned to do. He simply found himself wide awake around five in the morning, giving him plenty of time for a shower and light breakfast before he apparated to St. Mungo's.

The emergency section had plenty of seating in the waiting area. Harry would show up about fifteen minutes before seven, go directly to the cafeteria and return to emergency with two cups of coffee. The reception desk would inform Daphne he was there and he'd occupy himself with coffee and the Daily Prophet until she finished her shift.

"You don't have to do this," Daphne said, the first time or two. "I swear I've learned my lesson."

"I know," Harry said each time. "Coffee's good this morning. I just woke up early and thought I'd get you a cup. Might as well go home together. As long as I happened to be here."

Harry would then stay around the house until Daphne went to sleep. If he was going to his office, he would set every ward before departing. He told himself it was normal, everyday caution. It was, in the sense of remembering, every day, Dorea's comment about the threat from X.

Weeks went by with no sign of X. Harry's businesses continued to do well. Daphne had the Greengrass enterprises stabilized and began paying off the note that Harry held on the manor. Harry offered to forgive the loan or sell the note to Daphne for one peppercorn, as she wished. His view was that she would be inheriting the manor at such time as Cyrus and Cordelia had no further use for it, so why clutter up their lives with the paperwork?

Daphne demurred, insisting the repayment was a useful reminder to Cyrus that inattention to the fundamentals, i.e., not borrowing unless one intended to repay, had nearly bankrupted the Greengrass family. Daphne still sat down regularly, usually once a month, with Cyrus and Cordelia. She brought a file folder with three summaries of the status of the family sources of income and Cyrus' loans. She included figures for beginning balance and ending balance for the period shown. Daphne did nothing to call attention to the status of the mortgage on Greengrass Manor, the one that Harry held. It was there among the other outstanding loans. Cyrus could read for himself.

Harry had made his offer while strolling in the garden.

"He doesn't appear to bear any grudges," said Daphne. The daisies were having a great summer, so Daphne stopped to collect a bunch for the house. "No snark about you and your ethics, or lack thereof. He seems content to sit there and watch me work it all out for him."

"What are you going to do when you've put everything right?" asked Harry. "Will you let him have his head?"

"Oh, I don't know," Daphne answered. She took a long pause, choosing her words with care.

"I do think about that, more than I'd like. It isn't keeping me awake at night. It's just there, decision time, right? Getting a little bit closer every month."

"Brilliant," said Harry. "Forgive me, but Cyrus couldn't say that."

Daphne smiled, lopsided, a bit of rue showing.

"No, he couldn't," she said. "So very sad to say."

They walked slowly on the graveled paths that wound among the beds. Harry took Daphne's hand.

"You're doing a great job, you should know," he said. "Can I tell you something in confidence? I really wouldn't want this to get out. Hurt feelings…"

"If you want, sure," said Daphne.

"Neville, who has a good business mind, didn't think we would get this far."

"Oh, thanks, Cuz," said Daphne, adding a little snort for punctuation.

"He was probably right, at the time," Harry mused. "An outsider, like me, wouldn't have commanded the attention. You and Cordelia did it, I think."

They walked on, listening to the stone crunching underfoot.

"Thank-you," Daphne said. Harry came out of his reverie.

"For?" asked Harry.

"Being there, for me," said Daphne. "For all of us. You did it all, figured it all out. I'm working your plan, with Mother's help. When I think of Astoria…OH! I still get so angry at him sometimes. How can a father do that? Promise me you'll never…"

Harry paused. The way she said it, like it was here, now. Daphne took another step forward, then another. Harry looked at the back of Daphne's head. She took another step, head down, studying her own feet moving along the path. Harry trotted ahead, taking Daphne's hand when he caught up.

"Daphne?"

Daphne stopped and turned to face Harry, although she looked over the top of his head at first.

"This isn't how I imagined…I haven't been taking anything, and we've been…active, I suppose…I'm a little behind schedule…"

"And you're?" asked Harry.

"Late," said Daphne. "All I can say right now. Still well within normal limits, I could start tomorrow. The thing is, there is a certain way I feel, a day or two before, and I haven't felt that way, so, each day that goes by-If you get my drift."

"Oh, I do," Harry said as a very satisfied smile crept slowly up his face.

"You're not upset? We talked about family, kind of in the abstract," said Daphne. "We didn't get as far as agreeing we'd try, specifically. Merlin, I've messed this up completely, haven't I? I didn't want to have it come out this way. I've reverted to hormone-addled seventh-year."

Harry started to laugh, a giddy chortle bubbling up from deep inside. His head swam, a thousand thoughts a second tried to become words.

"No," he managed. "NO—I'm not upset. Upset? Ha-ha-ha! How could I? Oh, Daphne, here."

He wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Oh, a family, with you! That's, that's unimaginable. I hope you are. Not late, I mean, uh, the other," he said.

"You can say it, Harry," Daphne teased. "Try. Preg…"

"…gers," said Harry.

"NO, you slippery wizard, say the word," demanded Daphne.

Harry took a deep breath.

"My wife, Daphne Potter, might be pregnant," Harry said. His leaned, putting his lips next to her ear. "I hope so. I love her so much, I don't have words to describe how much."

They leaned back, gripping one another's forearms.

"Thank-you, Harry," said Daphne. She didn't get sniffles but it looked to Harry like she was blinking quite a bit. "I love you, too. And I really want to make a family with you."

They walked on. Bees still buzzed around blossoms. Flowers past their peak bloom had begun to dry in the sun, putting out the scent that Harry always associated with the bunches of dried herbs and flowering plants, hung up by their stems in Professor Sprout's greenhouses. Their feet kept crunching the gravel, slowly.

"Going to be full dark," said Harry.

"Uh-huh, work tomorrow," answered Daphne.

"Hate to go in," Harry allowed.

"Have to sometime," said Daphne.

"Sometime," said Harry. "I guess. Tomorrow's just the office, right?"

"Right," said Daphne. "You get to sleep late."

Harry spent the rest of their waking hours attempting to toady to his wife, no easy task in a home comprising two family members served by an efficient house elf. Daphne didn't feel a need to be toadied to but Harry was so sweet about it and was clearly having a great deal of fun, so she let him continue until time for bed.

"Harry," Daphne said as the bedroom lamps flickered their last. "I could just be a little bit overdue. Late. I let you be a concerned husband tonight but could you save it? Expectant witches really need the support and attention and all of your love at the end, the last month or six weeks. I don't know how many witches I've had tell me that. Lots."

"Oh, of course," said Harry. "Did I overdo?"

"Maybe, a bit."

Harry sighed.

"It's nice to think about," he said.

"Which I didn't mean to do," said Daphne. "That's not right, getting you all a-flutter before I know anything."

Harry slid his arm under and pulled Daphne close, even though he knew the arm would go to sleep and then he would be trying to extract it without waking his wife.

That night Harry dreamt of his front lawn. He stood at the top of the steps, the big door closed behind him. At first he was a bit distant, looking back at himself. His point of view changed and he looked out through the eyes of the Harry standing on the steps. The Potter lambs were playing on the lawn, chasing one another, jumping about and kicking up their hind legs. The woman he met when he and Daphne shared the dream on their wedding night stood among them, looking back at the house, and Harry. As she looked at him, she shook her head.

"Not this time," Harry heard.

"Blast," said Daphne. She threw back the sheet and the duvet, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Harry was fully awake and watched his wife slip out to their bathroom. She took care to close the door so quietly that all Harry heard was the click of the latch.

Harry's eyes caught just enough light to betray his wakefulness when Daphne came back to bed. Once she slid in beside him Harry reached over and pulled her to his side. She settled in and gave him an inarticulate murmur of approval.

"Time?" she asked.

Harry kissed Daphne's forehead before he answered.

"Four, more or less," he said, then, "Not this time."

Daphne sighed.

"Not this time, I'm so sorry," she confirmed.

"For what?" asked Harry.

"False alarm," Daphne said. "Getting you all worked up over nothing…"

"Hush," Harry ordered. "It was wonderful, for a few hours. It's just Nature, doing its thing, is all. Do I wish your suspicions had been confirmed? Yes, of course. You're the subject matter expert, but my understanding is we have been doing everything according to standard practice. So, we keep practicing."

"I like practicing," Daphne whispered. "You run the best practices ever."

They turned their attention to getting back to sleep so everyone would be ready for work. Harry was very solicitous of his wife, from when they got up through breakfast, until she left for her office. He tried not to overdo on the little toadying gestures, calling Kreacher for a refill of Daphne's teacup rather than doing it himself. He must have stayed in his own lane, he decided, catching Daphne's indulgent smile only two or three times before she dispensed her good-bye kiss and stepped into the flames of the fireplace in the salon.

"Lord Potter?"

Dorea waited until Daphne was away before she reached out to Harry.

"Grandmother Dorea, how are you this morning?"

"How are _you_, Harry?" asked Dorea.

"Great-grandmother…" Harry began, then stopped. He considered his next words, his answer to Dorea's question.

"You are aware we had a little excitement? For a few hours? How is that, exactly?"

"There was a feeling, about the house, one could say," Dorea admitted.

"I'm fine, Grandmother," Harry said, smiling up at the portrait. "I appreciate your asking me. We were delighted, but it was a false alarm, that's all. I've resolved to think of it as an invitation, from the Powers That Be, to consider future possibilities, and be ready."

"Good attitude," said Dorea.

Harry didn't have a lot of work waiting at the office so he picked up his Potter Orb in its velvet bag along with a volume of the Potter grimoire, saluted Dorea Black Potter in her gilded frame and stepped into the fireplace.

Pansy had brought the little orb back and left it in the middle of Harry's desk. He sat for several minutes, looking at the two, trying to decide if one had a clearer fundamental character than its cousin, or if he felt more empathetic with this one or that.

Finally deciding if there were a difference, he'd be most unlikely to discern it in his present state of expertise, Harry opened his volume of family magical lore and began to scan pages. He was looking for references, however tangential, to soothsaying, prognostication, clairvoyance and divination.

Harry had not been serious about divination at Hogwarts. He was very much in Hermione Granger's camp, skeptical, more than a little suspicious of both divination and its most vocal fans. One of those fans, of course, was Lavender Brown, with whom Hermione had unrelated issues that Harry didn't share.

He wasn't sure exactly what he was looking for, or why. All Harry knew was that he had been taken by surprise by a number of events during the year just past. If there were real provisions that could give a wizard an early warning, Harry asked himself, why not use them?

The grimoire contained secrets. All of it was available to Harry. As a Potter he had free rein in the Potter grimoire. Although the nuggets were not secrets for him, the grimoire took its time giving them up. A few of Harry's relatives were oriented toward organization. He had run across three incomplete indexes purely by accident. The reason was apparent, after a little thought. The indexers started their projects but they had to die while the Potters kept going, adding more to the grimoires as they went along. Judging from his reading, Harry thought it unlikely anyone had done an update at any time during the last two hundred years. Harry plodded on, page by page, jotting references down on a piece of note parchment so he could find his way back in the original manuscript.

Harry Potter sat at his Potter and Associates desk. He began his viewing with the orb from the Potter vault. He tried holding a thought while staring into the crystal. Now and then some cloudiness appeared, stayed for a minute or two, then dissipated. At least, that is what Harry thought was happening. He settled into a method. Once an area of exploration emerged, Harry formulated a question that he held in his mind, then he waited for the sphere to…what? He didn't know. Did he even want an answer, as such? It wasn't certain the crystal ball was capable of giving an actual answer. Different practitioners described their experiences in different ways.

Even so, it was a method. Harry resolved to stick with it until he learned enough to modify something.

Still associating the Selwyn-Mendini-Berg collaboration with his great-grandmother's Threat X, Harry tried to focus his mind's eye on those individuals he had seen in person while holding the thought that he was asking for the orb's threat assessment. As Harry stared, his mind tried to drift. He brought it back to the business they'd undertaken. He focused on the orb before letting his eyes go out of focus. He tried looking through the crystal, only to see his desk blotter magnified. He pulled back a bit and tried to look into the orb without focusing on what was on the other side. A face faded in. It could have been Laurent Selwyn.

The face declined to stay in focus. The orb worked its way through Marcella Berg, Ricardo Mendini, Amalia Berg.

Daphne put Laurent Selwyn into a stone wall. Did they leave him there to die?

Harry's office replaced the orb. He looked around. The clock said it was ninety minutes later than it had been the last time he looked.

Harry took a deep breath, then another. He stood, pushed his chair back and stepped out from behind the desk, headed to his bathroom. Harry stood at the sink and looked at his own face in the mirror, looking right back at him.

A thought occurred.

"That was interesting."

Harry felt like he needed to go for a run. He'd have preferred to go back to Potter Manor and get out the Firebolt and solo for an hour or two. The shorts, sweatshirt and trainers in the office bathroom cupboard were tempting, but Harry hadn't spoken to Pansy yet so he settled on an apparition to the tea room's neighborhood and a three-block stroll through the ever-fascinating London streetscape.

The door spell sounded, a sweet tinkling-bell facsimile that didn't involve a bell at all.

"Harry! Come for a pot of green?" Pansy asked when he walked in.

"Yes," said Harry. "The green sounds better. Do you have those little pearls that unfold in the hot water?"

"Of course," said Pansy. "We're running a tea room."


	48. Chapter 48

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Forty-eight

Distress, Respite, Repeat

Harry looked around while he waited for his pot of tea to arrive at his table. Pansy kept an eye on him while she stood behind the counter. One of her employees cast a boiling charm at the kettle, listened for the beginnings of the rattling of a full boil and canceled the charm before the water pushed itself up the spout.

"Good," muttered Pansy. Her assistant looked back at her and nodded. She picked up the kettle by its handle and poured the hot, but not boiling water. The tea ball floated to the top of the pot before taking on water and sinking to the bottom. Pansy pinched the little chain of the tea ball, raising and lowering it three times before putting the lid on the pot.

"Go ahead," said Pansy, still keeping her voice down. She nodded toward Harry.

The young witch put the teapot on the tray that already held a cup, a glass full of water and a small dessert plate with two biscuits.

Pansy stayed behind the counter, keeping an eye on the room. Two tables had customers, all of whom were conspicuously ignoring Harry Potter sitting alone at a table in the corner.

Harry poured a little tea and took a sip. Judging it to be well-steeped and ready for drinking, he filled the cup about halfway.

"How is it?" Pansy asked. She pushed the low stool away from the opposite side of the table from where Harry sat.

"Perfect," Harry said. "You know, this was truly inspired, Pansy."

Harry took a long sip of his green tea.

"I'm really glad you did this," he said. "I do enjoy coming here. Lots of other people do, too. They've told me."

Pansy was turning red.

"Thanks," she said, barely louder than a murmur. "Don't go away before we talk."

With that, Pansy returned to her station.

The other customers did leave, eventually, and they weren't replaced. Pansy saw, and seized, her opportunity.

"Take a break," she told her assistant with a nod toward the street door. "Ten. Fifteen, if you want."

When they were alone Pansy returned to Harry's table, bringing a fresh glass of water for Harry and one for herself. She sat down, took a drink, and waited for Harry to bring up whatever was on his mind.

"Just thinking something through, or trying to," Harry said.

He went back to his study of the teacup he held in his two hands. Pansy gave him his head. She took another drink of her water, picked up the tea pot and filled Harry's cup. The tea ball rattled around inside the pot. Pansy got up, taking the pot.

Harry studied his cup, swirled the tea, took a drink. He went back to swirling. Pansy dropped in a freshly-filled tea ball and refilled the pot.

"Getting anywhere?" Pansy asked as she put the pot down in front of Harry.

"I was working with the orb," Harry began. "Nothing to do at the office right now. All the bills are paid. We don't have any deals in progress. Just passing the time until you finish up here and come by. I got into a bit of a state."

"It will do that," said Pansy. "Did you commune with Trelawney?"

Harry thought it over.

"No, but I am feeling a little more appreciation for her right now," he said. "If she was running around like this all the time it's no wonder she seemed goofy to us."

"Not to mention the sherry," noted Pansy.

"That, too," Harry allowed.

"Well, Harry, what was it that generated all the concern?" Pansy asked. "Did you see something scary?"

"Not scary," Harry said. "I saw some Bergs. Actually, I'm not even sure I saw them, as such. They could have been inside my head. I might have been asleep, or dozing, I can't say, at this point."

"Sounds like you got into a meditative state and some things surfaced," said Pansy. "Do you meditate?"

"A healer I saw, after the fighting, showed me his technique," Harry said. "He recommended daily practice. I tried, stopped, never went back."

"You're familiar with how it feels, then?"

"Yes," answered Harry. "It might have been something like that."

Harry stopped talking as he drained his cup.

"You'd better have a talk with Daphne, Harry," Pansy said.

Harry could see she was studying him, his face in particular, although she was very good at seeming not to.

"About?"

"What do you mean, about?" Pansy asked. "She has the contacts. You might need to see someone, a professional, and talk about this."

"You're right," said Harry. "As soon as we're both at home again. How's Morag?"

"Lovely, I assume," said Pansy. "She's in Glasgow, back home tomorrow afternoon."

"Mm…Heard anything from Romilda? Or about Romilda?" asked Harry.

"Not since she stopped by the office with little James," Pansy said.

Harry stood up and sidestepped out from behind his table.

"Five galleons cover everything?" he asked, knowing the answer. "The change can go in the tip jar."

Pansy got back to Potter and Associates a bit after two that afternoon. Harry was at his desk, reading a volume of the Potter grimoire. Pansy looked over Harry's desk top. There were no crystal balls in sight.

"Feeling better, boss?" she asked.

"Much, thanks for asking," said Harry. "That green tea can really fix one up. How do they get it into those little balls?"

"Something they do in the drying, I think," Pansy said. "What are you studying?"

"Some family history," said Harry. "I'm not the mystic, as you know. Just looking for some background."

Pansy noted that Harry was keeping his cards very close. She knew he'd expand when he was ready, and not a moment before, so she left for her own office with a little good-bye wave.

Harry Potter turned back to his Potter grimoire. He was right about a family seer. The Potters had had a number of them over the years. Harry wasn't sure of his relationship to most of them. Of course, if he wasn't a direct descendant of a particular seer, he would have been a cousin of anyone born a Potter.

The family didn't have a preferred method of divination, as far as Harry could tell. Seers used tea leaves, rune stones, crystal balls and other aids. Some of them seemed unqualified, divining the future more from luck than skill. Others were more like oracles, going into trances or meditative states and expounding prophetic tangles of words and phrases that defied interpretation.

Harry kept checking the clock throughout the afternoon. He wanted to spend some time with Daphne in the quiet at Potter Manor. He thought his experience with the orb merited discussion and he knew Pansy was right. If he was experiencing hallucinations in the middle of the day, he needed to hear a professional's perspective.

Pansy stepped out of her office when Harry got up to leave for the day.

"Be careful," she said.

Harry nodded.

Later that evening Harry proposed they have dinner in the breakfast room. Daphne noticed the portraits' drapes, which Harry usually left in place in recognition of the sunlight that flooded the room much of the day, had been sent off somewhere, and that James and Lily seemed to be present and fully alert.

"It might not mean anything…" Harry began as they each stirred the vegetable soup that was the first course.

Harry went on to a recounting of his conversation with Dorea's portrait, his reading and communion with the Potter orb, the ninety minutes of visions and out-of-body sensations, and the aftereffects he felt for the rest of his work day. Daphne tried to keep her eyes on Harry as they ate. She opened up, listening for unusual stressors and paying attention to Harry's body language.

"Would you like an opinion?" Daphne asked when Harry finished. "I won't even charge you for this one."

"Sure," said Harry. "I kind of manipulated our dinner plans just to get an opinion."

Daphne smiled at Harry's confession.

"We, the Potters, have gone through a slightly tumultuous period," Daphne began.

She did a quick recapitulation of their recent history. She began with the shared vision on their wedding night, followed by the reappearance of the annoying Laurent Selwyn in combination with the Berg-Mendini clan.

"In my opinion, you went through a series of events with those parties, events from which you and I emerged fit as fiddles. Your opponents did not fare well, not at all. Your mind is going back over what happened and asking what if? Do you disagree?"

"No, you're right, as usual," said Harry.

"Great-grandmother Dorea gave you a little advice," said Daphne. "It was sound, and perfectly reasonable for her, given her background and experience. You responded by working on your magic. You wish to enlarge your repertoire. I approve, that's a wise step. Letting go of our conscious mind to give the subconscious room to work is basic meditation for wizards and muggles both. Still with me?"

"I think so," answered Harry. "Things piled up and when I tried to see what the orb could tell me it all came back at once."

"Very good, Lord Harry, very good indeed," said Daphne. Harry wanted to give her a little more, she could see. Daphne took a sip from her water goblet while she waited.

"After Hogwarts and seven years of anarchist dog's-breakfast dysfunction, I thought I could be a small-time London magical businessman, with some rental properties and a country place," said Harry. "Get in touch with my dull and boring self."

That was as far as he got. The words ran out. Confronted with the internal conflict between being Harry Potter, Lord This, That, Heir and Member of the Wizengamot, and the peaceful intentions inside himself, Harry put his fork down and stared at Daphne.

"Brilliant," said Daphne. "You're doing everything right, Harry. You did not do this to yourself. Others brought it to you and you protected the people who deserved protection. I'm sorry you can't collect rent and give good value for the money and let it go at that but Madam told us, back there at the stone wall, it is all perfect, even the flaws."

Daphne broke a bread roll in half and reached across the table, putting a chunk directly in Harry's mouth. After chewing and swallowing the bread, Harry took Daphne's hand and brought to his lips for a kiss.

"All feeds all," Harry said. "Thank-you for the reminder, which came right on time."

Daphne gave him a grin.

"I'm going to prescribe something," she said. "Forty-eight hours of abstention from family grimoires and/or study of orbs or oracles of any kind. Give that brain a rest. Go look at some real estate. You don't have to buy it, just look at it."

Harry and James' portrait both burst out laughing. Daphne looked up at Lily's portrait. Lily sent back a wink and a knowing nod.

Harry listened to his healer and faithfully followed her guidance. He took a moment to re-shelve the grimoires that had been sitting on the little side table next to his favorite reading chair. Stepping back to look at the volumes back in their places, Harry felt a definite sensation of relief, as if he were granted a furlough from the prison of Harry Potter, to which he sometimes felt he had been given a life sentence.

Harry took his mid-morning coffee at the Leaky Cauldron. His intent had been to stop and leave a message inviting Neville to come by Potter and Associates, whenever he might be at the pub. As it was, Neville was there, in sole charge as his wife was out with friends, supporting the magical economy of London.

Harry and Neville held a segmented conversation, necessitated by Neville's leave-taking each time he had to deal with a customer. Even so, in less than an hour Harry had a list of properties they'd heard of that might present opportunities. Harry volunteered to do the legwork, out and around London, looking over the properties and collecting any available details that might help in the decision-making.

Pansy was in her office when Harry got back.

"Well!" she said when Harry walked in.

"You bet," said Harry. "I feel renewed."

"Prospects?" asked Pansy.

"At least two good possibilities," said Harry. "Plus, I still have a few left on the list for tomorrow."

"Glad to hear it," Pansy said. "An owl brought this, maybe an hour ago?"

Pansy handed over an envelope addressed to 'Harry Potter, London.' The only other information on the exterior was a monogram on the blob of wax that closed the envelope's flap.

Harry looked it over. There were lots of decorative elements but he easily picked out the initials— 'RM'—in the midst of the all the curlicues.


	49. Chapter 49

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Forty-nine

Ice Cream, Coffee, Conversation

"What do you want, Ricardo?"

After wearing out relays of owls as they discussed Mendini's proposed trip to London, Harry and Ricardo Mendini had ended up at Fortescue's. It wasn't lost on Harry that he had proposed the neutral and very public space in his reply to Mendini's initial letter.

'Whatever,' Harry had sighed to himself on the occasion of Mendini's acceptance.

"This is a beautiful spot, Harry," said Ricardo. "I must confess, before we go further, I just could not get it through my head that an ice cream shop could be so perfectly placed. These tables and the view of Diagon Alley…did you know, on the Continent, Diagon Alley has a mythical character, for children, growing up? I've heard of witches demanding a honeymoon stop in Diagon Alley as a condition in their marriage contracts."

Harry looked at Mendini, who looked back. Harry waited for the sober mask to break into a laugh, but it seemed Ricardo Mendini really was telling the truth.

"Well, you're a busy man, I know, so here it is," Ricardo said. "The late Baron, Lorenzo, my great-uncle, left a widow, who was, I suppose, my Aunt Romilda. Things were not smooth when Romilda was at Our Place. Some of the cousins weren't very kind to her. I tried, within the bounds of propriety, to be supportive."

'Oh, crap,' Harry thought.

"I just wanted…If you know…ahhhh…Is she alright, Harry? It's thought, at Our Place, that she must be in Britain, or possibly, Ireland, somewhere. The magical community is small. If you put the word out, asked around, could you?"

What in Merlin's name? Why did he keep getting pulled into the Bergs' romantic affairs?

It came to Harry in a flash: Ricardo Mendini had a thing for the Widow Berg. Harry saw the path in its entirety. Mendini wanted to reach out, through Harry, which would make Harry a quasi-matchmaker with Ricardo for a client, exposing him again to the lunacy of Our Place and the inbred mountaineers. This after Romilda had gotten him to handle four of the Bergs for her right here in London. It didn't seem right, nor a good thing for him to dabble in.

"Things are changing on the mountain, Harry," Mendini went on. "When Selwyn put your excursion together and brought you all to Our Place, you showed the community the old, fixed ideas are no longer useful, if they ever were. Cousin Max has been working on them. I even got Amalia to come to Salzburg with me for a week. She's admitted we need to 'adjust' as she says. Not change."

Ricardo started to laugh at the irony while it was Harry's turn to don the mask of neutrality.

"Where is your Aunt Romilda in all of this?" Harry asked. "You obviously have some kind of feelings for her. Do you want to take her to Our Place?"

"No, no, no," said Mendini. "I won't be residing at Our Place again. Amalia is right. I've been away too long. The cousins, the ones like Amalia, avoid going outside so they don't have to deal with the outside. Salzburg is not that big. It's very manageable, in fact. They won't do it. Then there are Max, me, and quite a few others, if you can believe it. We own profitable enterprises that we pay others to run for us. Managers, staff, lawyers, all of it. Those could be our jobs, paying for a bit more of a modern way of life."

"Ahh…" said Harry. "You're a young man."

Ricardo grinned, slightly, nodding once.

"You see a future, something new, unexpected, opening up in front of you, a career, modernizing an aging family enterprise," said Harry. "I respect your vision."

"I have heard," Ricardo began, then changed direction.

"Heard you have trod a similar path."

Harry held his tongue, studying Mendini. He liked Ricardo. He didn't want to alienate him unnecessarily but there was the possibility of unfinished business between the Potters and Our Place.

"Ricardo, I have to ask, have you been sent? Are you part of something that threatens me, my wife, her family, our friends?"

Harry sat still and watched Ricardo Mendini's face.

"Harry, I assure you, I mean you no harm," said Mendini. "I had two reasons for getting in touch. You discovered them both. Romilda, just, well, she came to Our Place and she was my great-uncle's wife and we could all see she was mismatched but that is what he wanted, for some reason, so I had to respect my Baron. That is when I moved full-time to Salzburg. That had been coming on anyway, it was inevitable, the move. I like business and none of the others wanted to devote the necessary time. That's the second reason. Business. Someone to talk business with."

"There are businesses over your way," said Harry.

"Not a lot of magical businessmen, or women," said Mendini. "The _non-mage_, Harry, just see a rustic, from the mountains. I have so much to learn, but I'm the first of my clan to attempt modernization in centuries, so it will be up to me to find the way."

Conversation stopped again. Harry signaled to the young man serving the outdoor tables, ordering a second round of coffees for himself and Mendini.

"Ricardo, let me begin by saying a couple of things, personal things, so we get them out of the way," Harry said when the coffee arrived and the young server returned to his station.

"Our Ministry has archives. Your extended family appears in a volume or two, probably because of the line of barons. The titled always have to see themselves in the _Almanack_, or else they don't believe they're really nobility. My guess is the archivists cross-referenced diplomatic correspondence. Reports of activities that, what can I say? Activities that took place outside the mainstream of magical culture? Otherwise your habit of concealment would have effectively removed you from European magical annals."

Harry took a sip of coffee while he looked at Ricardo Mendini over the rim of his cup. Mendini didn't seem to be incubating any uncontrollable rages so Harry continued.

"Based on what I've learned, I don't want to be in a conflictive situation with any of you. How many, or what percentage, I should say, of the whole Our Place extended family does Amalia represent? If we became correspondents, and Amalia found out, would she take offense? Come after you? Come looking for me? How many would she bring with her?"

"Second, if Romilda wandered through here this afternoon, and saw you sitting right there, would she want to say 'Hello?' Or would she get out of London by the fastest means available to her?"

Ricardo Mendini leaned back in his chair and let out a long sigh.

"I honestly don't know," he said. "I wanted to do better by her. Let's say I thought the family ought to do better by her. I hoped she noticed."

"Ricardo, honestly, if Romilda had remained, would she have been in danger?" asked Harry. "If so, has anything changed?"

Mendini seemed to be about to respond, several times, before he shook his head.

"Yes, to your first question. The second, I don't know."

"Thank-you for your honesty," Harry said. "One other thing, Amalia, and the great-aunt you referred to before—are they nursing any grudges? Against me, my wife or any of our associates?"

Mendini grinned.

"Not your wife, nor her companion. Narcissa, was it? If the truth were known, I think Amalia would like to apprentice with them."

"Uh-huh, fine. Now, what about me? Amalia, in our one meeting, was ready to have a go at me."

"You showed great forbearance, Harry, and I am personally grateful. I think we both know how that would have ended. Dieter was a favorite uncle, Amalia's mother's brother. When he didn't return from the…the search for Romilda, Amalia was very upset."

"So every wizard in London is responsible for her uncle's disappearance, in her mind?" asked Harry, again making a close study of Ricardo's face as he got ready to answer.

"Amalia, somehow, found out about Laurent Selwyn and his disappointment in not marrying either Lady Daphne or her sister. They planned the abduction and luring of yourself to Our Place. He must have said enough or alluded to something and Amalia supplied the rest from her imagination," said Ricardo.

'Plausible enough, as far as it goes,' thought Harry as he continued to watch Mendini.

"Well, Ricardo, I don't think any harm will come from conversations such as this," Harry said. He brushed off his slacks with his napkin and got ready to stand. "I wish you well with your enterprises. You'll pardon me if I don't present myself at Our Place on a regular basis, Alpine paradise or not. I won't mix well with some of your relatives, ever. At least I don't think so. Oh, one other thing—do we have to stay alert for the return of Laurent Selwyn? Another perpetual…"

Harry circled his hand a few times.

"…annoyance, one could say," he concluded.

Mendini leaned over the table.

"Selwyn returned to his family, the entire incident forgotten," he said.

Harry nodded. He thought that must mean obliviation but didn't want to pursue it. If Mendini meant obliviation Harry truly did not want to know. It was a delicate task for a skilled witch or wizard and Harry hadn't seen a lot of sophisticated magic from any of the Berg-Mendini's.

"Pleasant trip," said Harry with a nod. Ricardo nodded back. Neither felt inclined to offer a hand.

Harry dined with Daphne at Potter Manor later that evening.

"You did WHAT?" Daphne demanded. "After all that foolishness you had lunch with one of them?"

"Ice cream and a coffee," said Harry. Was his voice a bit plaintive? He thought it might be.

"Out in the open. Clear sightlines everywhere. It was just Ricardo, as far as I could tell. We had a nice chat. I learned some things."

"Like?" asked Daphne, her voice still a little strained.

"He'd like to reach out to Romilda," said Harry. "As a person. One to one. Did I say that correctly?"

"You mean he has romantic feelings for her?" Daphne asked.

"Seemed like it to me," said Harry.

"What did he say?"

"Just that some of the family was not nice to her and he regretted it and wanted to be more supportive but it was delicate, her being the young bride of his great-uncle who was also the Baron," said Harry. "He couldn't be seen to…He said he had to stay within the bounds of propriety."

"I don't like it," said Daphne. "Why did he think you could get in touch with Romilda? How did Ricardo make a connection at all?"

"He didn't say anything that made me think he saw a connection," said Harry. "I listened for that. If he was holding out he didn't make a slip, not that I heard."

Daphne pushed a floret of steamed cauliflower around on her plate while she thought. Harry could almost see the evidence, on the outside of Daphne's face, of the gears turning, meshing, breaking contact and reconfiguring themselves inside.

"Any message?" she asked.

"No," said Harry. "I suppose there would be an implicit 'Thinking of you' in there, somewhere.

Daphne let out a snort.

"What else?"

"Selwyn has returned to his family, the entire incident forgotten," said Harry.

"Obliviated? No, you know what? I'll just keep my ears open. More?" asked Daphne.

"Dieter Berg was a favorite uncle of Amalia's," said Harry. "I asked how she connected me with Dieter. Ricardo said she had somehow heard of Selwyn's disappointment in not landing either you or Astoria, and the two of them cooked up the abduction plan and got some of the others to go along with them."

"Well," said Daphne. She took the bite of cauliflower, chewed, swallowed. "Well, well, well."


	50. Chapter 50

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Fifty

Let's See if This Works

Harry went over his conversation with Roberto Mendini many times. He tried to force himself to put it out of his mind, although that never worked very well for him. Daphne was always a pleasant diversion. Harry found himself wishing she had chosen a different profession, one with regular hours and no shift work, just so he could enjoy her companionship when he wasn't in his own office.

Still, he had his investment properties, the townhouse at #12 Grimmauld Place and Potter Manor for diversion. He had Kreacher, Mort and Daisy to keep busy. He'd given his maintenance and decorating elf couple so much work they had become de facto Potter elves. That was convenient while also obliging Harry to make sure they had plenty of challenging tasks to give their magic regular workouts.

After Ricardo Mendini sent his first owl, Harry briefed Pansy on a regular basis. She was a close associate and had participated in some of his earlier encounters with Dieter and Marcella. Harry hadn't asked if Pansy wanted to have an adventure or meet an infieri or any of the other things they'd done, just trying to keep Romilda out of the hands of her impossible relatives. He owed her transparency in all of his dealings with them, for her own protection.

When Harry sat down with Ricardo, Pansy insisted he let her stay nearby and watch for signs of treachery. She used a bit of simple glamor to change a feature or two and sat at a window in the ice cream shop, taking her time with a dish of the lemon-vanilla with coconut sprinkles.

Pansy and Harry went over the conversation several times. Neither wanted to accept Ricardo Mendini's peaceful overture at face value but neither could either one find gaping holes in his account. If his intent was what he said it was, there wouldn't be any harm coming to Romilda if they passed on Ricardo's greetings. If she wanted to follow up, that would be up to her. On the other hand, Ricardo might have actually been nice to Romilda at Our Place and was acting, for the family, as a bit of benign bait to lure her out from her sanctuary so they could get…what? What did they want from Romilda? Did they want the Swiss francs she'd taken? Return of the jewelry the old Baron had given her? Her life? Did they know about her son, who might actually be the Baron now?

At the end they agreed they couldn't discern the Bergs' intent, peaceful or otherwise, and would do nothing that might expose Romilda. At the same time, they felt an obligation to let her know Ricardo had reached out. For good or ill, a member of her late husband's family had been in contact with Harry, and the subject was Romilda.

Shortly after Ricardo's visit, as part of his effort to keep the Bergs and Our Place from occupying an inordinate amount of his thinking capacity, Harry made a mental checklist of things he had considered, let slide and never followed up. Things like some sheep for the front green. An elf to help Daphne with anything that would be inappropriate for Kreacher.

"Your mother has a lady's maid elf, doesn't she?" Harry asked one evening. "Fluff is hers, isn't she?"

"Yes and yes," said Daphne. "Why?"

"I was wondering if you thought, if a good one who was looking for work came our attention, that you would like to have her join us? If you could give her enough things to do to keep her fit and happy. Draw your bath, maintain your clothes and lay them out for you when you're doing all your coming and going, manage your life in our various households, et cetera," Harry said.

"Nice of you to think of it," said Daphne. "I'm pretty good at life without a lady's elf, or I thought I was."

"You are! You are!" Harry said. "I didn't mean you aren't. All I meant was if you'd like some help, I'll ask Kreacher and Daisy if they know of any candidates."

"Don't protest so," Daphne said with a little smirk. "I was being a bit of a tease. Let me think it over. We have been getting busier. A competent bath-drawer and pedicurist might be a perfect fit."

Harry knew she was still having a bit of fun with him but he let it go.

"Where does a manor go to get some sheep?" he asked.

"Good question," said Daphne. "Don't you rent out some parcels? To farmers? Who grow crops, raise livestock, that sort of thing?"

"True," Harry said.

"Perhaps a farmer would know better than a healer where one goes to get a sheep," Daphne said. "Unless you want me to write a prescription."

"Fine, message received," said Harry. "I'll see if anyone is raising sheep. You're feeling a bit feisty tonight, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Daphne, although it was more of an announcement. "The calendar says the next seventy-two hours would be a very promising period, if you would like to try again."

Daphne plucked a grape from a bunch in the center of the table and put it to her lips, holding it there for a moment before sucking it in. She stared into Harry's eyes as she chewed the grape, taking her time working it around in her mouth.

"Merlin," whispered Harry.

Harry arose feeling energized and alert, as if there were no problem he could not solve, in all likelihood getting it done before he stopped for lunch. Daphne had driven Ricardo and his cousins completely out of Harry's consciousness. The Berg-Mendini's were still there, of course, but they were safely contained and had ceased causing distress. Harry could get them out and puzzle over events and conversations when he was good and ready, not subject to their whims.

Harry called for Kreacher and a carafe of coffee as soon as he arrived at the office. Pansy wouldn't be getting to the tea room until nine. That left an hour for contemplation and coffee before he could sit down and take a joint decision on how they would approach Romilda with the news of Ricardo's visit.

Opening his desk drawer, Harry got the smaller orb out and put it in the middle of his desk. Even if he gave Ricardo full credit for telling the truth about Our Place, Amalia and the great-aunt, Harry knew there had to be details missing. Perhaps the orb had something to contribute.

An hour of orb study left Harry with a few questions, ones he hadn't thought of before. If those had answers, and he could get them, the picture would clarify.

Harry enjoyed a pot of the green tea and two of the little biscuits while he waited for Pansy to get a few free minutes. The tea room showed no sign it would be clear of customers anytime soon so Harry kept his remarks short. His main interest besides enjoying the green tea was confirm Pansy would be coming by Potter and Associates later.

He went back to his office by way of Gringotts. His account manager agreed to work his contacts to locate a few sheep for Harry's lawn. Harry left the breed selection up to the account manager. He did stipulate he'd like a black lamb or two, if it was possible to arrange those things.

Harry and Pansy went into conference as soon as she returned to Potter and Associates. They didn't work from an agenda. They did revisit all of the interactions of Romilda and the Berg-Mendini's with Harry, Pansy and the people around them. Whenever one of them had a question they re-worked the history until they were both in agreement on every detail. By late afternoon they were sure they understood as much as they could, given the information available.

"Ready, then?" Harry asked.

Pansy gave him a smirk.

"Harry, one can't ever know, with you, can one?" she said.

They walked into the green flames as Harry gave the destination.

"#12 Grimmauld Place."

Harry got Pansy seated at the big plank table in the kitchen and asked Kreacher to fix them up two coffees. He left Pansy with Kreacher and went out, coming back just minutes later with some parchment, ink and a quill. They talked over the wording, crumpling up a number of sheets of parchment and tossing them into the firebox of the wood-fired range before they got the message reduced to its bare, urgent minimum.

"Want to write?" Harry asked.

"Why me?" asked Pansy.

"Female handwriting," said Harry. "Mine's all blocky. Clumsy-looking."

Pansy sighed and reached for the writing materials.

"Re: POTTER!" she wrote. "Cottage, now. R."

"Perfect," said Harry.

"You are a stereotyping, witch-hating wizard, Harry Potter," said Pansy. "Female handwriting. FEE-male HAND-writing. Uggh!"

"If we live through this, you're going to get a substantial raise," said Harry. "Want to meet Caesar?"

Harry led the way to the owlery. The little owl that had attached itself to him hopped up and down, expecting a treat, a flying job or, possibly, both. Harry began with the treat.

"Need you to take this to Ricardo," Harry said as he tied the little scroll to the owl's leg.

"HOOT!" said the owl as it looked at Pansy.

"Oh, Pansy, this is Caesar, Caesar, this is Pansy. We work together," Harry said.

"HOOT!" said Caesar. It hopped onto Harry's shoulder where it waited impatiently for the opening of the louvered shutter, before disappearing into the London night.

"You're all set?" Harry asked. "I'll get there as soon as I can but I do have to make one stop. It shouldn't take very long. Dressed warm enough? Know some good warming charms?"

"Yes, all of that, get going," said Pansy.

Harry continued with his questions while they descended the stairs.

"Wand? Here, take this one, you might need a backup."

"This is your wand, Harry," Pansy protested.

"It is, but I've got another one," said Harry. "I'll feel better if you have an extra."

The got to the front vestibule and Pansy took a moment to look at Harry.

"Well," she said.

"I should be in the lane in half an hour, maybe less," said Harry.

"What do you want me to tell Daphne, if this goes all squirrelly?" asked Pansy.

"That it wasn't supposed to and it wasn't your fault," Harry answered.

With that, Pansy stepped out onto the front steps and disapparated. Harry counted to thirty, slowly, then followed with his own disapparation.

Pansy materialized on her hilltop where she had sat upon a flat rock in the sunshine, studying the Scottish countryside where she had come to grips with her love for Morag MacDougal. Just being there as sunset came on put a smile on Pansy's face. She gave it a minute or two before taking herself in hand and walking back toward Livia's cottage, now the home of Romilda and James Parkinson Vane.

Harry materialized once again on the rocky shelf between the sea and the hidden cave. He had his steps blocked out in his mind so this time there was no wasted motion. As he stood before the enchanted wall Harry reminded himself to be very careful and not touch the rock as he had before. Instead, he drew the Elder Wand and performed a clean cutting spell, cupping his palm and letting a little blood pool before flipping his hand toward the wall. The enchantment accepted his blood sacrifice and the wall slid aside.

The boat appeared as usual, taking its time. Something about the charms and spells in the cave seemed to be fixated on hyping the drama surrounding every movement.

"Riddle," said Harry to himself, shaking his head.

The island looked to be just as he had left it, although there was no sign of Marcella Berg. Harry didn't feel bad about leaving her behind. Not after she'd cut him with a dagger. He had no doubt she could have killed himself, Pansy and Romilda without a second thought.

The little cube that contained the shrunken, petrified Dieter lay at the bottom of the basin, the potion waiting for some unimaginative person to drink the basin dry. Harry had a plan for the potion. Drinking the basin dry was only the backup.

The Elder Wand performed as if it and Harry conjured odd artifacts several times a day. Harry picked up the siphon hose from the rock floor and put one end in the basin. He squeezed the rubber ball at the other end five times and started siphoning the potion out of the basin. It took less than a minute for the basin to empty. Harry picked up the cube and put it in his pocket, tapping the opening to seal it closed. Siphon hose in hand, he stepped into the enchanted boat and pushed off for the far shore.

He had taken so little time the rock wall was just beginning to slide closed, so Harry slipped out to the cliff face and disapparated, heading for Scotland.

"Over here," said a quiet voice as Harry approached the cottage.

"Thanks," said Harry.

"Mission accomplished?" asked Pansy.

"Complete success," Harry said. "Now, let me explain a couple of things."


	51. Chapter 51

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Fifty-one

Clear the Air

Harry had to tell Pansy about the petrification and shrinkage of Dieter Berg, something he had never confessed before, in order to make sense of his return trip to the cave.

"Merlin! Harry, what goes on inside that head of yours?" Pansy demanded. "Was retrieving Dieter necessary? That cave is nightmare material. It's a curse on our lovely planet."

"Very handy, though, from time to time," said Harry. "Just remember your siphon hose if you need to get something out of the basin."

Pansy went back to watching the cottage.

"How does Dieter figure in this?" she asked. "I thought if you could show Ricardo and Romilda together, that would be enough. They'd be co-conspirators. Lock 'em up. Done."

"Sure, if it worked out just that way," said Harry. "What if it doesn't? What about X? If X is inserted then all calculations are off."

They both heard the popping sound of a witch or wizard materializing nearby. They went silent as they scanned the area, trying to find the newcomer. The moon hadn't appeared yet but there was no artificial light anywhere near. Night vision was sufficient to identify Ricardo Mendini a few feet from the stile before Livia's cottage.

Romilda must have heard the sound of Ricardo's apparition because the door opened a few inches and a silhouette of Romilda's backlit head appeared.

"Quiet!" said Romilda in a kind of stage whisper. "Inside, quick."

Ricardo tried to comply and stumbled coming down the far side of the stile, nearly sprawling headlong on the path to the front door before catching himself and straightening up.

"Welcome home, Grace," said Romilda.

She stepped back from the door to let Ricardo enter, but he didn't wait to get inside to plant a long kiss on Romilda's lips.

"Mmmm…" they heard Romilda say, then, "Inside, now!"

"There's no one…" Ricardo began before the sound was cut off by the closing door.

Harry drew the Elder Wand and held it out between their position and the cottage.

"Let's take our time, Romilda may have wards or alarm charms or who knows what?"

Pansy drew a wand and handed it to Harry.

"Take this back," she ordered. "I want my baby if we have to get physical with someone."

"Your baby?" Harry whispered, his glee showing. Pansy Parkinson, perhaps the toughest witch he'd ever known, called her wand her baby?

"Shut up Harry Potter," said Pansy as she wanded another quadrant.

"Okay?" Harry asked, meaning was Pansy satisfied they could work in a little closer.

Pansy nodded and was preparing to slip over the stone wall when they heard another inbound magical materialize. This one was a bit more distant, although still relatively close. Pansy and Harry froze, trying to blend into the shadow of the wall. The person walked up the lane to the stile. They seemed to know where they were going while at the same time giving the appearance of unfamiliarity. Perhaps they had come once before, in daylight.

They climbed the stile and walked straight to the front door. Harry heard the sound of another apparation. He turned to look at Pansy, whose eyebrows went up and came right back down. The rest of her face was unreadable in the starlight. They continued to huddle against the wall.

"Amalia?" said the latest arrival.

"Ssst!" said the person in the dooryard.

'So, Amalia, and now someone besides Amalia,' Harry thought.

"There you are," said the nameless person. Details were scarce but it sounded like she was a witch.

The stile squeaked as the door to the cottage opened. Harry and Pansy could see Ricardo Mendini clearly in the light from inside. He had his wand drawn and pointed at Amalia.

"I should kill you right here, Amalia," Ricardo said. "Only…"

A voice sounded from the stile. It didn't speak anything Harry could understand, or identify, so he had to assume it was more Romansh. Ricardo pivoted and faced the stile. Harry and Pansy looked and saw a person, the light from the cottage just sufficient to show it was a witch, with wand drawn on Ricardo. It looked like a standoff in the making before Ricardo dropped his wand and sighed.

He spoke a few words that Harry interpreted as something along the lines of, "You'd both better come in."

Harry waited until the door closed before he turned to Pansy.

"I think this might work," he said as he reached into his pocket.

Pansy rolled her eyes again. A thought occurred to her, that she was going to have very tired eyes if Harry didn't keep making her roll them every ten minutes.

Re-enervating Dieter Berg required first the reversal of Harry's shrinking spell. Luckily for Dieter the reversal was fairly common and Harry had no trouble remembering it. As soon as Dieter regained his full size Harry relieved his petrified self of his wand, handing it on to Pansy.

Harry wasn't sure re-enervation was a routine procedure for a wizard who'd been petrified for so many months, but Dieter became responsive almost immediately. He took a long time blinking his eyes, patting the ground around him and studying Harry and Pansy before he spoke something in Romansh.

"Sorry," Harry said, shaking his head. "Try English."

"Where am I?" Dieter asked, just a bit emphatically. Harry hissed and leaned over Dieter as the cottage door opened.

"Silence," he said as softly as he could.

Ricardo stood on the big stepping stone outside the door, wand raised to the sky. He shot off a series of lights that arced across the sky. Harry was reminded of the muggle army's magnesium flares.

Ricardo seemed unbothered by the fact that his position gave him no sightline to the immediate far side of the stone wall. He didn't leave the stone, taking the time only to scan the dooryard and the field across the road before going back inside.

"Signur Berg, my name is Harry Potter," Harry whispered. "Do you remember me?"

"I do," said Berg. "But why?"

"Another time, or maybe it will all come back," said Harry. "Anyway, it is some months now that you have been in a state of suspension. The immediate danger has now passed and it is safe to bring you back. You will accompany us to a meeting and this will all be put right. Please take your time until you understand what is going on. This will all unfold for you but you must be patient. Can you do that?"

"What choice?" asked Berg.

He put a hand on the ground and pushed himself up to a sitting position.

Harry was anxious to get to the cottage and set about getting all the participants' stories because he was sure they'd be giving them up to him before very long. Still, he knew Dieter Berg would figure in the resolution so he made up his mind to let Berg's recovery determine when they would all go knock on the door.

Door.

"Pansy?"

"What, Harry?" Pansy answered.

"Someone ought to cover the back door."

Pansy sighed.

"Could…"

"Sure. Should have thought of it myself," Pansy said.

She slipped over the stone wall, rolling over like a high-jumper to minimize her profile. Pansy moved toward the house making little more noise than a rustling in the grass.

"Ready?" asked Harry.

Dieter nodded.

"Good," said Harry. "There's a stile just over here. Take your time. You'll probably be a little unsteady for a bit."

Harry had returned the Elder Wand to his mokeskin pouch when Pansy insisted on returning his holly wand. He still held the holly wand when they got to the great stone before the door. Harry knocked twice and all conversation inside the cottage stopped. Harry held the holly wand between his fingers, casting as gently as he could. The door swung open, slowly.

"Dieter!"

"Amalia!"

"Dieter!"

"Berthe!"

The greetings sounded like they were rebounding from one another. Harry kept his eyes on Ricardo Mendini, whom he had tricked into coming from Our Place to consult with his co-conspirator, Romilda Vane Berg. Harry assumed they were lovers, as well, but he didn't know that for sure. Romilda saw where Harry was looking and began to take tiny steps toward the back door, young James Parkinson in her arms. Harry let her go.

"All," Harry said in greeting. He kept his holly wand visible, just so there wouldn't be any uninformed persons in the room. "You must be the great-aunt I haven't met."

"Berthe Berg," said the older woman. She pronounced her given name 'Bear-ta.'

"Harry Potter," said Harry. "You'll forgive me if we skip the other formalities, considering our circumstances."

Berthe got a smile at that.

"Dieter," Harry said, pulling out one of the substantial wooden chairs at the table. He let the recently-reconstituted Dieter get comfortable before he spoke.

"I've filled in some of the blank passages in an intriguing story but some have bedeviled me, I confess," said Harry. "It appears we have all the witnesses to this or that occurrence present and now you will tell me what in Merlin's name you all have been doing to make my life so difficult?"

Romilda had gotten to the back door and was opening it, slowly. She didn't think anyone was watching so she slipped out, only to step down and feel a hand take hold of the collar of the heavy shirt she wore, along with a wand tip to the base of her skull.

"Please," Romilda said, tears already apparent in her tone of voice. "My baby…"

"You leave the baby out of this you faithless wretch or by Morgana's soul I swear I will relieve you of every brain in your head," Pansy threatened.

"You don't have to blaspheme, Parkinson," said Romilda, fully recovered. "I'll go back inside."

"Yes, you will," said Pansy, tightening her grip on Romilda's shirt.

"So?" said Pansy when they got back into the kitchen. She made it a question.

"Just getting started," said Harry. "James okay?"

"As far as I can tell," said Pansy as she tried to look over Romilda's shoulder.

"Perhaps in his cradle, while the adults talk?" Harry suggested.

Pansy indicated Romilda should sit in another of the heavy chairs. When she had, Pansy took James from her and put him down in his cradle. He took up nearly all the space.

"Such a big boy!" Pansy enthused, getting a beautiful smile from James in return.

"Let's begin," Harry said. "A few weeks ago, my wife was abducted by a disappointed suitor and taken to Our Place. I understand some of you may have thought you had a legitimate conflict with me…"

Harry nodded at Dieter.

"But my wife? She's a healer. She doesn't get involved in feuds or tit-for-tat with other families. She had a few words with Laurent Selwyn while she was in captivity in the cell there at Our Place and he indicated your plan was to kill me so he could court my wife, which he intended to make his wife. I don't know what kind of code you all are living by, if any, but that right there is enough to bring on some serious reprisals from me and my clan. Wouldn't you say?"

None of the Berg-Mendini's seemed to want to say anything. The silence stretched on, save for the little squeaks made by James' cradle as it rocked.

"Mr. Potter, we didn't mean any harm," said Dieter. "Madame Romilda…"

"Stop," ordered Harry. "Let's go over that. Romilda, you showed up at Fortescue's, engaged Pansy in a little conversation, and the two of us expend weeks keeping you out of harm's way while we looked for a safe haven."

"Thank-you, Harry, thank-you, Pansy, you saved…"

"Shut up, Romilda, you lying piece…" Pansy said.

Harry knew where she was going and he knew Pansy was justified. Still, he held up his hand and Pansy stopped speaking.

"There will be a time for that, I'm sure," Harry said. "Romilda, you're up to your earlobes in this mess, and I think I know why. Something was wrong from the start. Pansy and I could feel it but we couldn't sort it out. You never gave us the whole story. When a loose end started to unravel the rest of it you'd give us just enough to let us think we knew what was going on and leave the rest. Then Ricardo came to see me, to reach out and let you know things were going to change and you'd be welcome back."

Amalia Berg started shouting. Her words sounded like one of those strings of expletives that some people are subject to when their rage boils over. Harry couldn't tell for sure because Amalia had reverted to Romansh. Dieter spoke up, from his chair, in English.

"Amalia, dear, we must use our English or we'll be here all night, hmm? Now, Mr. Potter is right, he got pulled into something, as did Miss…?"

"Parkinson," said Pansy. "Pansy Parkinson."

Pansy gestured at herself, with her wand, as she said it.

"I've figured out there are two parties at Our Place, the one thinks change is inevitable and must be embraced to preserve the family and the special way of life you all have, and the other thinks clinging to the old ways in the strictest fashion is the key to preserving the special way of life you all have. Why are you here, Ricardo? Scotland? Recently overcome with a craving for heather?"

"No, I got a message, by owl, from Romilda," said Ricardo. "I had to come. It read like she had an emergency."

Romilda's jaw dropped.

"YOU sent the owl," she said, pointing at Harry. Pansy let the point of her wand drift. Romilda got her meaning.

"That was pretty good, Harry, really. You too, Pansy, if you had anything to do with it," said Romilda. "Yes, Ricardo and I noticed one another at Our Place. We talked. He was already working with the managers, down in Salzburg. He saw the books. Lorenzo knew the family was paying an awful lot to have those people run everything. He never could get the traditionalists to see that those were jobs for Bergs and Mendini's. All they wanted to do was sit up there at Our Place and feel superior. Quit looking at me like that, Amalia. It's the truth and you know it."

"Fine," said Harry. "Irreconcilable differences. Why don't the modernizers go off like Ricardo? Oh, and whose baby is it?"

"Lorenzo's," said Romilda.

"LIAR!" shouted Amalia. "You took Ricardo for a lover while you were married to our Baron!"

"No, I did not," said Romilda, looking at Ricardo.

"Amalia, that is not true," Ricardo said.

"You had Derek, was it his then?" demanded Amalia.

"I didn't exactly have Derek," said Romilda, face flushed and eyes flashing. Harry thought it looked like she wanted a go at Amalia. He really wanted to keep them both healthy enough to get to the bottom of the story. Then they could take it outside, for all he cared. Harry was about to intervene when Dieter spoke up again.

"Amalia, Derek cannot be the father," said Dieter. "Marcella had a series of miscarriages, forty years ago. They tried as many times as they could but a healer convinced them both they had to stop. Marcella was going to kill herself if they kept conceiving and losing babies. Derek saw a healer in Zurich and took himself, what, out of the equation, you could say. They had many more happy years together. Then Romilda made our father so happy and he didn't keep it to himself and Derek got ideas. Yes, he raped our father's wife. Our family will bear that shame forever, won't it? But, if Romilda did not stray, beyond Baron Lorenzo and Derek, then that baby over there is the Baron's son. And my brother."

The tension in the room was becoming too much. Everyone's face had a sheen, or so it appeared to Pansy. She reached over and opened the back door to let some fresh air inside.


	52. Chapter 52

Merit and Inheritance

Chapter Fifty-two

Homecoming

Morag finished up at the clinic and returned to London, to St. Mungo's. Her next schedule would be available at the administrative office. She was looking forward to a few days in London. With luck, Pansy wouldn't be over-booked and they could take a whole day for themselves. She didn't care what they did or where they went, particularly, she just wanted a day of companionship. Morag loved being a healer again, seeing patients, finding the cause of their complaints and putting things right. At the same time, she knew the value of a day without those heavy responsibilities.

"Healer Morag!"

Morag knew the voice, which was coming out of the door to the emergency section.

"Healer Daphne!" she answered. "What's up?"

"I had the same question, only for you," said Daphne. "I'm about to finish my shift. Want to go for coffee or tea?"

"I'm going to admin for a copy of the new schedule," said Morag. "Want me to come back here?"

"Perfect," said Daphne.

A short time later the two healers arrived at Potter Manor. Daphne called for Kreacher and asked for a pot of tea and some biscuits. The witches laid their cloaks over the back of a wing chair and sat down.

Daphne liked to work in wooden clogs. She leaned against the back of her chair and slipped her feet out, then pushed the clogs aside.

"Feel free," she said and Morag kicked off her flats.

The two leaned against the backs of their chairs, raising their feet off the floor, wiggling their toes and interlacing fingers behind their heads.

When Kreacher arrived, Daphne took over serving.

"What's new?" Daphne asked, handing a cup and saucer to Morag.

"Scotland is still there," said Morag. She took a sip of her tea.

"That's good," said Daphne as she stirred hers. "Do you and Pansy have plans?"

"Nothing firm," said Morag. "Why? Looking for company?"

"I thought we might," said Daphne. "Let's see…he's probably at the office."

Daphne attempted a floo call, without result.

"Hm," she said. "Maybe they're at the tea room."

She tried another call and was told neither Harry nor Pansy was there.

"That's odd," she said. "One more."

Daphne called the Leaky Cauldron.

"Not here," said Hannah Abbott. "Want to talk to Neville? I don't think we've seen them in here today but you can ask."

"No thanks," said Daphne. "I'm just trying to locate either of them."

Daphne signed off and returned to her chair, pinching her lip. She called for Kreacher, who appeared immediately, but Kreacher hadn't seen Harry since that morning. Morag sat still, holding her cup.

"Let me," she said, getting up. Morag dropped her powder and gave Pansy's floo address.

"Pansy?"

She had no more luck than Daphne. The two stared at one another.

"Morag, make another call. Livia's cottage. I don't like this at all."

Morag wasted no time and soon established the connection.

"Romilda? Morag. Daphne and I are looking for Harry and Pansy. Have you seen them?" she asked.

"We're here," said Harry's voice from the fireplace. "Want to come through?"

Harry kept his wand on the assembled and side-stepped nearer to the hearth.

"It's clear," he said.

Two barefoot healers walked out of the green flames into Livia's cottage.

"Let me catch you up," Harry said.

He did a fairly creditable job, synopsizing the Berg-Mendini effort to bring the Baron's young widow back, Marcella's rage and Dieter's efforts to stick with Marcella and keep her from murdering Romilda outright.

Dieter had supplied that detail himself, something Harry thought very convenient for him, but he chose not to press the point just then. The healers glared at Romilda and the Berg-Mendini's.

"Who talked to Laurent Selwyn?" Daphne demanded.

Amalia Berg stood and raised her hand, slowly.

"Healer Daphne, I have had time to reflect on my anger and I regret how I acted under the emotions. I know it was wrong. I only wanted to get answers to my questions, about Uncle Dieter and Aunt Marcella. We have Dieter back, somehow. I apologize for Selwyn," Amalia concluded.

"Madame Berthe?" said Harry. "Anything?"

"Oh, Lord Harry, I mucked everything up. I was just trying to keep the peace. The factions are getting more and more agitated. We didn't have a leader. Amalia was demanding answers. I overheard some English witches gossiping about Selwyn and Lady Daphne and her sister and I passed it along to Amalia. We planned to bring you to Our Place. We just wanted to know what you had done with our relatives."

Harry looked at Berthe.

"Why did you connect me with any of your business in the first place? How did I come to your attention?" Harry demanded.

Berthe looked at Romilda.

"The widow," Berthe said, her voice a study in contempt. "If she was faithful to my brother, Lorenzo, that didn't stop her from making plans for her future. An owl lost its message on the floor of the owlery. The widow wrote a short note to her close friend, Ricardo, informing him she had arrived in London and looked around Diagon Alley. Some friends from school own a pub and one of her witch friends works for Harry Potter."

"We just started from that note," said Dieter.

Harry looked at Pansy, with whom he had shared some close calls during their adventure. The two of them turned as one and looked at Romilda, who tried looking back in defiance, but eventually wilted under their gaze.

Harry was at a loss for words. He looked from one to the other, finally standing, closed-mouth, shaking his head.

"Well," Harry said at last. "You now have a leader. Dieter, do you want this troublesome congregation? If I decide to let you go, will you keep them out of my business? No, you know what? I want you to keep them out of this island. Ireland, too, for that matter. Romilda, I want you out of here, too. If you and Ricardo have plans just move up the date, will you? Ricardo?"

The Berg-Mendini's looked back and forth. Amalia moved first, crossing the room to stand in front of Dieter.

"Uncle," she said, kneeling, bowing her head and holding out her two hands, taking Dieter's when he extended it.

"Baron Dieter, I pledge my fealty, so help me God," said Amalia before she kissed Dieter's hand.

Harry would wonder later why she spoke English. Was the oath even binding for a Berg if it wasn't in Romansh? He settled on manners. They wanted the witnesses to understand.

Berthe and Ricardo pledged fealty as well, just as Amalia had. Everyone stood very still, staring at Romilda.

Romilda looked only at Ricardo. Ricardo looked back. Pansy had had enough.

"For Merlin's sake, Mendini, do you want her or not?" Pansy asked, not using her indoor voice.

"No, he doesn't," said Romilda. "Don't flinch so, Ricardo. I know. You have someone in Salzburg, don't you?"

Ricardo looked around the room, making a silent plea for someone to do something or say the right thing to end his quandary.

"That is enough from all of you," said the newly-ascended Baron. "Romilda, you are my widowed step-mother, and the mother of the Baron-presumptive. I am unmarried and will stay that way. Would you be interested in a position at Our Place? The protocol people will have to determine what is possible, according to the laws and precedents. We could ensure the eventual succession of your son to the position, if you are willing to work with me."

"It's worth discussing," said Romilda. "I'll need someone to look out for my interests, won't I? It isn't like brokering a marriage contract, exactly. It's something like it, though."

Dieter turned and looked at Harry. Pansy opened her mouth but Morag saw her and raised her flat hand immediately. The two exchanged some looks.

"I've never done such a thing," Harry tried.

Daphne leaned over to Harry, whispering in his ear.

"Go ahead, Lord Harry," she said. "Negotiate a good deal for Romilda and Dieter and get yourself an affiliation on the Continent."

Harry had a response set to go about an affiliation with the Bergs being the last thing he needed or wanted. Daphne had never steered him wrong, though. She DID know a lot more about the old magical traditions than he did. Harry looked back at Dieter.

"Baron Dieter, will you accept me as Romilda's agent and advisor in this matter and work with me in good faith?" Harry asked.

"Lord Harry," said Dieter as he glanced around at the three members of his fractured family present in the kitchen of Livia's cottage. "I don't think I have a choice. Yes, let's work together."

The members of the two delegations made short work of some testy farewells and the Berg-Mendini's left by floo. Harry didn't know the destination, because he didn't speak Romansh. He didn't want to know. He did want it to be outside Britain.

Romilda stayed in her chair. Pansy was still keeping an eye on her, confiding later that she would trust Romilda Vane about half the distance she could throw her.

"I'll keep you informed," said Harry. He crossed the room and looked down at James Parkinson Vane. "You too, Lord James."

With that, Harry went to the front door, crossed the yard to the stile and didn't stop until he stood in the middle of the lane. Pansy and Daphne weren't far behind. The three of them waited for Morag who they could see was having words with Romilda.

"Daphne!" said Pansy. "Why do you want Harry involved with those people? They mess everything up! Everything they touch gets complicated and stupid."

Harry burst out laughing.

"True," he said. "Complicated and stupid. I don't flatter myself that I can make progress on either. On the other hand, if Daphne thinks it is a good idea, I'll do my best. You'd think she would have an aversion to them after what happened, wouldn't you? And yet, she thinks it is a good idea. As a Gryffindor, I'm obliged to fulfill her expectations."

The two Slytherins couldn't get a response in before Morag crossed the stone wall at the stile and joined the group.

"Can we take you home and see what Kreacher can put together on short notice?" asked Harry.

Daphne did have a good idea after all, and one year later Harry and Daphne headed a delegation to Our Place that included Narcissa Malfoy, the Marshal of the Blacks, the Healer Morag MacDougal, Ms. Pansy Parkinson, Associate of Harry Potter and Mr. and Mrs. Draco (Astoria) Malfoy. The occasion was the formal elevation of Baron Dieter, an appropriate period of mourning for Lorenzo having passed. Certain delicate matters (the still-missing Marcella and Derek's embarrassing cause of death) were handled with finesse and a 'Let's let bygones be bygones' approach. Harry and the Our Place Office of Protocol had negotiated an arrangement so that Romilda was treated something like a regent or dowager, complete with a Romansh title that was untranslatable.

Dieter and Romilda worked surprisingly well together, trying to defuse the tension between factions. Some unhappy parties from both sides left for other pursuits. Ricardo began remaking the Berg-Mendini business organization, replacing outsiders with Bergs and Mendini's when he had the opportunity. He engaged a goblin from the Salzburg Gringotts branch and contracted for the first outside audit of the Berg enterprises since skiing began its boom years in the 1950's. Our Place hadn't been cheated, exactly, but there were lots of places where profits were lost through inflated salaries and unfavorable contracts. Ricardo and his cousins began attending to those, one by one.

The family credited Harry with its change of fortune, something Harry thought very silly since all he had done was make it possible for one widow to return to Our Place with her son, the presumptive Baron James. Dieter tried to explain the local sentiment.

"My cousins are very superstitious, Harry," Dieter said. "Signs and portents, portents and signs. They were at a loss when my father died. It was a bad omen, the old Baron dead, followed shortly by Derek, then I was missing for months. You would say they were getting jumpy. Worried about the future. Then things started getting better when I came back and you arranged for Romilda and James to join us. They associate the good fortune with a clear succession for which they give you the credit."

"Please convey a thank-you from me, if the occasion presents itself," said Harry. "Make it gracious, won't you?"

The Potter-Black delegation brought a number of gifts for the Berg-Mendini's and their hosts reciprocated. Harry visited his hoard in the Potter vault, picking out a generous selection of items with no family or historical significance. He had presentation boxes made up with the date and 'Investiture of Baron Dieter' printed on the lids. Witches received a ring, brooch or bangle while wizards got gold watches and chains or cufflinks.

Word had somehow gotten to the Bergs that the delegation had become quite taken with the intersex portrayal of the portrait Venus as well as the standard of the XII Legion Fulminata. Neither had a strong connection with the Berg-Mendini's. Dieter learned of the interest and ordered that both would be sent home with "My good friend, Lord Harry."

Venus got to Potter Manor and went straight on to Malfoy Manor. Narcissa always assured Daphne she was giving Venus the best of care but Daphne never saw Venus after that. Astoria admitted knowing where Venus was but refused to tell her sister anything further.

Julia the Roman eagle loved the company of sweaty men, their boisterous lives and profanity. The standard of Legio XII Fulminata settled quickly into her new home among the Potters' athletic trophies. With the addition of Julia to their household, Lady Daphne conveyed upon her husband her personal, private title of Your Imperial Majesty and amused them both by paying obeisance in all kinds of imaginative ways.

_**The End**_

_All: This is the end of Merit and Inheritance, a Harry Potter-Daphne Greengrass fan fiction romance. The author makes no claim to anything in this story, aside from the plot, as most of the characters, magical institutions and locations appear in the Harry Potter novels of Ms. J.K. Rowling. The author further wishes to thank Ms. Rowling for tolerating the community of readers and writers of fan fiction._

_Thank-you to all the readers who have left reviews or sent personal notes, of which I am most appreciative. _

_Bfd1235813_


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